


Tell Me Something I Don't Know

by Snowlynx40



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chloe Decker Finds Out, Episode: s03e19 Orange Is the New Maze, Episode: s03e20 The Angel of San Bernardino, Episode: s03e21 Anything Pierce Can Do I Can Do Better, F/M, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Devil Reveal, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Wing Reveal, Temporary Amnesia, canon divergence- Lucifer season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowlynx40/pseuds/Snowlynx40
Summary: Story begins during S3E19- Orange is the New Maze: Unknown to Lucifer, Chloe witnesses his wing reveal to Charlotte and starts pulling away until she can figure out what to do. Does Chloe want to keep a fallen angel in her life when she's finally found someone reliable in Marcus Pierce?  Work in progress. As always, tag suggestions are incredibly welcome, because I'm clueless. I have no beta, any mistakes are mine. If you spot some, please tell me so I can fix or defend them as needed!
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Ella Lopez, Chloe Decker & Linda Martin, Chloe Decker & Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker/Marcus Pierce
Comments: 345
Kudos: 343





	1. Bulletproof Vest and Bloodpacks, My Ass.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, brave souls. As usual, I have no idea where this is going, or where it's going to take us along the way. If you decide to read this... be prepared to hold on tight and possibly scream the entire journey, because, well... I have zero idea what I'm doing. I have no posting schedule, but I tend to post at least twice a week because unfinished things bother me.  
> So! Good luck, and happy reading!

Chloe leads the way from the interrogation room and sighs heavily as Lucifer closes the door firmly, leaving Maze at the interrogation table behind it. They face each other and speak simultaneously:

_“Now do you believe me?”_

_“I believe you.”_

“Yes.”

“I knew she didn't do it.” Chloe continues, shaking her head and wondering what her former roommate is up to, confessing to a crime she obviously didn’t commit. Maze has been _off_ for weeks… even more so than the self-proclaimed ‘demon’ usually is, lashing out at all her friends, even Trixie. _I wish she’d just really talk to me… I wish_ Lucifer _would just talk to me…. What is it with these two?_

“You know what this means, Detective. We need to bust Maze out. Let's smuggle her something she can use to escape.” Lucifer starts walking to her desk, snatching up random objects as he goes, though how he intends for Maze to escape a holding cell with Walters’ stapler, or Jennings’ sub sandwich, she’s not sure she wants to know.

“What happened to ‘a mere time-out’ in women's prison?” she prods acerbically. Honestly, she can’t understand how she had come so close to starting— _trying to start—_ a relationship with this man-child, with his complete lack of ability to handle the real world without his ridiculous metaphors. _Thank God for Marcus and his reliability._ She drags her mind back to the situation at hand, firmly squashing the thoughts that spring up unbidden.

“Well, we can't punish the innocent,” he scoffs dismissively, “or even the usually guilty but innocent this one time. It's the principle of the matter. “

“We have to find the real killer.” Chloe tries to steer him back to the actually _helpful_ plan. “It's the only way to keep Maze out of jail.”

“I hear someone's headed for jail?” Charlotte approaches them eagerly, stopping and glancing up hopefully at Lucifer before speaking to Chloe directly, “I'm ready to draw up the arrest warrant for Mazikeen Smith.”

“Hey, hang on. I'll grab my paperwork.” Chloe hurries to her desk, considering Charlotte’s odd situation as she goes. The woman had told her a while ago that she had indeed been married to Lucifer’s father, but she had conveniently “lost” her memory of that, and her recent history of the past several months when she’d awakened on the beach after jumping from the Santa Monica Pier to avoid getting shot.

_Everything with Lucifer is so complicated. It’s a good thing he ran to Vegas after my poisoning, it made me open my eyes to the_ huge _mistake I nearly made by trying a relationship with him. What a disaster that would have been._

_Yeah, Decker. Keep telling yourself that._ When he’d reappeared after weeks of silence, she’d felt her heart leap and swell in her chest… right up to the point where he shushed her and his bimbo bride had clumped down the stairs in those over-the-top heels and skin-tight dress. Then her heart had shattered, and she still hadn’t been able to find all the pieces.

She scans her desk for the correct file folder and snags it, glancing around for the pair and hurrying after them. As she climbs the stairs, Lucifer’s incredulous laughter rumbles quietly from the second level

" ‘Stepson’? Right. Yeah. That would've been far preferable, Mum... um...” he stumbles to a halt awkwardly before trying to cover with, “my dear Charlotte.”

Chloe _had_ always thought it odd that Lucifer and Amenadiel had _both_ called Charlotte ‘Mom’ (or, in Lucifer’s case, ‘Mum’); the woman couldn’t be more than a very few years older than either of them. But Lucifer had very carefully _only_ called her Charlotte since her memory loss.

“You said ‘Mum’.” Chloe knows that tone: that’s the big-time attorney pouncing on a witness with an unfortunate choice of phrasing.

“Did I?” he prevaricates, sounding nervous, which piques Chloe’s attention. He generally only sounds nervous when he’s trying to avoid telling the truth without lying, and Chloe stops on the stairs to listen, trying to figure out why he wouldn’t just tell her… it’s not like she can’t look up the marriage record at City Hall.

“So I _was_ … _I_ was your stepmom?” Charlotte’s voice is hushed, disbelieving.

“Well, not anymore,” he bursts out, clearly uncomfortable. “Look, it... it's complicated, Charlotte, and I am horribly crunched for time, so...” he turns and tries to walk away to escape the confrontation and Chloe shrinks back, afraid she’ll be caught eavesdropping.

“ _Tell me_ what you know, and _don't_ lie to me,” Charlotte’s strident demand spins him to face her again, sighing as his shoulders stiffen at the accusation. She softens her voice so Chloe can hardly hear her next words. “Please, Lucifer. I feel like I'm going crazy.”

“Fine.” He answers just as quietly after a moment of tense silence, “Fine, I suppose you do deserve to know the truth. Okay, then. No sense dillydallying.” Charlotte nods, a relieved smile spreading across her face. Lucifer fidgets with his jacket and exhales heavily before pulling another deep breath. “I really am the Devil. My brother Amenadiel is a former angel. That time you thought you survived being stabbed by your junior associate, you didn't. You died, and your soul went straight to Hell. Your empty body became a—a _vessel_ for my real mum, the Goddess of All Creation, until her celestial light started bursting out of your midsection. Naturally, I sent her to another universe so she wouldn't destroy this one. Once she vacated your body, you, Charlotte, came back to life. All right? There we are. All caught up.”

He delivers this clinically, without the slightest hint of sarcasm or facetiousness, no embellishment or any of his typical flamboyance, and Chloe rolls her eyes violently at the man’s inability to take _anything_ seriously. Charlotte’s face falls and pales, her eyes widening as his ‘explanation’ continues until finally he chuckles softly. He sighs and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You wanted the truth? Well, there it is. Now, I really, really must be going, because I have an innocent demon in the clink, but... if you have any follow-up questions, please, do feel free to... ask Amenadiel.” He huffs a laugh as he turns, and she sees Charlotte swallow hard. Chloe shakes her head at herself – _What were you expecting, to_ actually _get some insight from eavesdropping? —_ and hurries to start moving up the stairs, breathing heavily as though she’d only just caught up to them.

“Hey guys, I’ve got the paperwork for that warrant…” They move into a conference room and Chloe runs on autopilot as she tries to work out the metaphors regarding what he’d just told Charlotte. She _knows_ Lucifer doesn’t lie, but sometimes she wishes she had a decoder ring so she could really work out what the ever-loving hell he’s _actually_ trying to say. How does he keep it all straight? _I’ve never once seen him break from them. Every time I think he’s about to, it only hurts more when he doesn’t._ She tries not to think of the time she nearly got through to him in the lab… when she thought he was about to tell her something _real_ … only to realize he was just playing with her— _again._

“Detective?” Lucifer prompts her and she snaps back to the present. _I just need to get through this case._

*******************

After clearing Maze’s name of all suspicion, Chloe had met Marcus in the parking garage where she’d removed her necklace—Lucifer’s gift—and accepted a ride home from Marcus on his motorcycle, with Lucifer looking sadly on as they’d passed by with her clinging tightly to him. She’d lifted her fingers in a tentative wave, but he hadn’t acknowledged the gesture in any way, merely turning dejectedly to his Corvette instead.

Which is why she finds herself here at Lux, instead of at home enjoying a drink with Marcus. She hadn’t let him walk her to her door, merely climbed off the bike and returned his helmet with a kiss, thanking him for the ride before she retreated to her apartment and ordered an Uber to come here, to talk to her partner. They need to tranquilize the elephant in the room before it stampedes over them both, and she intends to do so _tonight._ Lux is closed for the evening, but just like the penthouse, Lux’s doors are never locked. She walks in the front, but as she enters the terrace from the street level, she hears Lucifer’s low voice and stops as she registers the hesitance in his tone.

“Brother, are you sure?” Lucifer and Amenadiel are standing near the winding staircase nearest her, which is the only reason she can hear the whispered conversation. “I mean, the old you would never have been okay with this.” She freezes in the obscuring shadows of the second level, waiting to see what might unfold.

“I don't think we have much of a choice,” Amenadiel mutters back. Lucifer glances at him, tilting his head in doubt before closing the distance between the two brothers and the blonde woman across the room—and Chloe _still_ doesn’t quite understand how exactly they’re brothers, with so very many differences (not the least of which is Lucifer’s very pronounced accent), even if they _do_ act every bit the siblings they claim to be.

“Charlotte. Do you have a minute?” He approaches her carefully, as though she’s a wild animal that could spook and flee at any moment.

“Sure,” the blonde woman nursing a drink at the bar laughs quietly, and Chloe realizes it’s Charlotte Richards. She continues in a sing-song cadence, “Just getting ready to check myself into the loony bin.”

“Charlotte, listen,” Amenadiel begins tentatively. Chloe edges forward so she can see them better; Amenadiel’s arms are crossed tightly and his hands can’t keep still, fidgeting with the sleeves of his olive-colored hoodie. “I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have told you what I did.”

“Yes,” Lucifer agrees quickly, before adding in capitulation, “And, well, I suppose that I didn't help things either. So we are here to make things right.”

“Now, we can't undo what we've already done, but maybe we can help you move forward.” Charlotte glances at Amenadiel with doubt in her eyes, but stands from her stool and leans against the bar, a skeptical look on her face. Chloe thinks to herself that she’s never seen the woman _this_ upset, and that includes when she’d approached her on the beach at Santa Monica after she’d just supposedly found out she’d lost a huge chunk of her recent memories.

“Last chance to change your mind, brother. Going once, going twice...” Chloe registers the hope draining from Lucifer’s quiet voice with each word until Amenadiel nods at him and he pulls in a tense breath and redirects his regard to Charlotte. “Fair enough. You, um, you may want to sit down again.”

“Nah,” Charlotte denies distantly, chuckling, “At this point, things can't get any crazier.”

“You'd think.” Lucifer backs a good distance away, giving Chloe a perfect view of him, and huffs an anxious laugh. He pulls in a wavering breath, and in the face of his naked fear Chloe suddenly feels an urge to back away, feeling like an intruder on a private moment. Her curiosity gets the better of her, though—she can’t lose the chance of finding out something _real_ about this man that’s wormed his way into her… her life, even if it’s something he may not want her to know. Her eyes lock on his tense form as she waits.

“Okay.” He clears his throat and sighs, and rolls his shoulders… there’s a sound of air displacement and he’s suddenly framed by two enormous, _gorgeously white_ wings. The bright lights of the club seem to coalesce around him, providing him with a halo of luminescence.

_How did he get them back?_ Chloe wonders distantly as she stares at him in awe, _He didn’t have the provenances for the FBI to release them to him—did he have another set made? Wait… where did they come from? He’s wearing a suit, and they certainly weren’t there a minute ago._

“Oh, no, Luci. We've broken her.” Amenadiel sounds on the verge of panic, but Lucifer stands stock still, merely holding up a finger in a ‘wait’ gesture. He keeps the wings spread, their total length easily spanning 25 feet, and Chloe notices that they move slightly as his chest expands and contracts with his breathing. _His_ wings. Those _are_ his wings. _Oh my God, Lucifer really does have wings—he really_ is…

“Charlotte?” His voice is infinitely gentle, and it calms her rising panic a little. “Are you okay?”

“It's... it's real.” She exhales jaggedly, and she nearly sobs the words. Lucifer’s expression is tender as he gives a slight nod, and Chloe can see the sparkle of tears in the attorney’s eyes as she laughs in relief. “Then that means I'm... I'm not crazy.”

_It’s all true. It’s_ all _true. Lucifer’s the devil, Amenadiel’s an angel, they’re sons-of-freaking-GOD._

“It’s all real, darling,” Lucifer murmurs, unconsciously echoing her own thoughts, “I haven’t lied to you, it’s something that I simply don’t do. And I’m so very sorry that you’ve gotten wrapped up in all this… this _family drama_.”

“You don’t understand,” Charlotte gushes, rushing across the room to Chloe’s _winged partner… the Devil_. She throws her arms around him and squeezes, and Lucifer’s arms pop up in that familiar way they always do when he’s ambushed with a hug he’s not expecting. The mundane familiarity of that posture from his many run-ins with Ella eases Chloe’s burgeoning anxiety just a little. “I’m _not_ crazy!”

“Yes, of course, Charlotte,” he reassures her quietly, bringing his hands up to pat her back stiltedly. “We’ve covered that, you’re _not_ crazy, you’ve only bounced back from Hell after your body played host to the Goddess of All Creation for a few months. Absolutely no hint of craziness here, I promise.” Charlotte buries her head against his shoulder and her body shakes with a sob, and Chloe hears Lucifer mutter, “Oh, bloody Hell. Brother, a little help here?”

Chloe’s mind spins circles, trying to simultaneously freeze and speed off at a thousand miles an hour to re-examine every single thing she remembers Lucifer telling her in the two years she’s known him. Amenadiel approaches the pair, but Charlotte clings to Lucifer more tightly. Chloe can hear her murmuring against his shoulder, “Thank you, thank you for showing me, thank you for _helping me_ , I don’t know what I would have done—”

“It’s quite all right Charlotte,” he sighs and wraps her more fully with his arms, pulling her into a real embrace and Chloe spares a moment to recall when he’d done the same for her, when she was crying over her father in her kitchen. With Charlotte, though, Lucifer’s wings also wrap around her, obscuring both of them until all that can be seen is the darkness of Lucifer’s bowed head as he continues to whisper into her ear, and the slightest hint of Charlotte’s blond hair peeping from the leading curve of the slightly pearlescent wings at his shoulder.

Finally, he steps back from the embrace and folds his wings away, freeing Chloe from her paralysis. She backs further into the shadows to remain unseen, and retreats back out to the street. She manages to summon an Uber and make it back to her apartment before succumbing to the inevitable breakdown.

***************

Chloe is incredibly glad that Trixie’s with Dan for the entire weekend, and that she’d already had the next couple of days scheduled off work. She makes an excuse of the stomach flu to Marcus so she can focus, and she holes herself up in her apartment with her laptop and a string of keywords to search.

A day and a half later, all she has are a million vastly differing accounts and a boatload of dissatisfaction.

According to the internet, Lucifer could be anything from absolute evil incarnate to the totally innocent and misrepresented victim of the winners—Heaven— re-writing history to suit themselves. She briefly considers going to the Church, but then she recalls all the disparaging things Lucifer has said about churches and priests in general… and she can’t help but acknowledge that the animosity there is most _definitely_ mutual. She finds herself wishing that Father Frank was still alive—she has a feeling he’d have some good points to consider.

_Okay Decker, what now?_ _If this were a case, you’d talk to witnesses._ She can’t talk to Lucifer, obviously, and Amenadiel is out for the same reason. _Ella. I can talk to Ella, and she’s got a really open mind with her religion… I bet she’d have some good insights. Linda? Maybe. Would she be compelled to tell Lucifer I was asking these kinds of questions? I can ask…_ Maze is out, with her recent more-unpredictable-than-usual history and with her outright anger toward Lucifer… _Oh God, Maze is an_ actual demon _. They’ve_ all _been telling the absolute truth this entire time._

She suddenly recalls a conversation with Amenadiel after Malcolm had kidnapped Trixie, and her face flushes with anger.

_Bulletproof vest and bloodpacks, my ass,_ she thinks to herself furiously. _Seriously? The Devil tells nothing but the truth and the_ angel _is the liar? I guess that might give me a clue as to the lack of veracity the church is likely to have…_

She texts Ella to see if she’s free for a discussion, and starts to compile a mental list of all the questions she comes up with, or things she’s observed, or can remember Lucifer mentioning about his… Luciferness.

  1. He’s Immortal
  2. Is he really evil?
  3. Powers don’t affect me? What powers? Mojo? Strength? What else?
  4. Says he didn’t bleed, but does now?
  5. Doesn’t get along with God
  6. Not responsible for sins?
  7. He doesn’t lie—does he?
  8. Huge scars on back—wings cut off? But wings are back…
  9. Supports me and trusts my judgment
  10. Terrified of Trixie
  11. Did Malcolm really kill him?
  12. Wouldn’t leave me behind when that bomb was armed, took a knife for me
  13. Ran off to Vegas after saving me from poison?
  14. What _was_ the deal with that car accident he was so worried about?



She thinks there must be more, but these are the things come to mind while she's waiting. Her phone chimes, and Chloe breathes a sigh of relief when it’s Ella confirming she’s free to talk. Lucifer’s texted her several times this weekend—not unusual for him, but she hasn’t read them or responded. _With any luck he’ll assume I’m with Marcus._ That would at least ensure he didn’t just turn up unannounced.

Chloe orders Chinese food while she waits for Ella, and opens a bottle of wine. She pretends she doesn’t think about what Lucifer would say about her $5 bottle of cabernet.

Chloe is tipping the delivery girl when Ella’s Uber pulls up and she bounces out of the back seat, chirping thanks to her driver.

“Hey Chloe!” she grins as she strides up the walk and Chloe can’t help but smile back, despite her anxiety. Something about Ella just makes you feel like everything is going to be okay. “It’s not very often I get a last-minute invite from you—not that I mind! I was actually relieved that I had an excuse to leave, Ricardo was about to make me watch _yet another_ Fast & Furious movie, so I’ve gotta thank you for the save.”

“I know,” Chloe grimaces, “I’m not very good at spontaneity, but I was really hoping to pick your brain.”

“Is this about a case?” Ella’s eyebrows contract, and a scolding finger comes up underneath Chloe’s nose, “because I am _not cool_ with you working on your days off. Work-life balance, my friend—it’s necessary.”

“It’s not about a case,” Chloe reassures her quickly, and the accusatory finger withdraws a little, “It’s… kind of about Lucifer.”

“Lucifer?” Ella’s crinkled eyebrows now shoot halfway up her forehead in surprise as she enters the apartment, “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine! I just… you know how he always talks in metaphors…”

“That dude is a _helluva_ method actor, and that pun is totally intended.” Ella chuckles at her own wit, and Chloe laughs weakly along with her.

“I was thinking that… I might be able to communicate with him better if I was more familiar with his source material, you know?” Chloe spins her cover story, hoping it’ll sound believable to Ella. “But _his_ take seems so different from most churches I’m familiar with, I was hoping you might have a little more open interpretation… you know, if you’d help me.”

“Girl, anything that gets my A-Team back to normal, I am more than game for,” Ella cheers, and Chloe tilts her head in confusion.

“Back to normal?” Chloe parrots, and Ella’s eyes widen at her misstep. “Why, would you say we… haven’t been normal?”

“Chloe, you guys’ll be _fine,”_ Ella rushes to say, “I mean, I totally support you going for Pierce—those _arms_ are really something, he’s such a sweetie, and his police work is top shelf! And once things settle down—”

“Ella, what are you talking about?”

“Um… nothing?” The shorter woman is leaning back and anxiously eyeballing the threatening packet of chopsticks Chloe has leveled at her. “Nothing at all… why… what were, uh, _you_ talking about?”

“Nope,” Chloe withdraws the chopsticks and starts unpacking the food containers, but doesn’t take her gaze off Ella’s nervous face. “Spill.”

“It’s just… after the Axara concert, Lucifer seemed a little down every time he’d see you with Pierce. And we’d talk about it a little, you know? And then, at the beach with this last victim when you admitted to dating him—” Ella swallows, but manages to meet Chloe’s eyes steadily. “The guy is totes head over heels for you, Chloe. I know you’re with Pierce now, but you’re gonna need to be gentle with him. He’s hurting.”

_“He’s_ hurting?” Chloe’s voice comes out louder than she intended, and she clears her throat _. He’s the Devil. He’s slept with ¾ of LA. He’s definitely not hurting just because I’m in a relationship._ She takes a deep breath before she continues, “Ella, _he’s_ the one that ran, and _came back married_.”

“Yeah, I kinda asked him about that,” Ella admits shyly. “He said something about… he needed her to help get information from his Mom? And something else about protecting you, but I didn’t really understand what he meant.”

“Do you remember what he did say?” Chloe pries shamelessly. She tells herself that—personally— she doesn’t really care _why_ , she’s well past her unwise feelings for Lucifer and is perfectly happy with Marcus… but it _might_ help her understand more about this whole Devil thing, which can only help their partnership. At work, of course.

“Hmmm, gimme a minute to think,” Ella snags a container of chicken fried rice and digs around in it with her chopsticks, brow furrowed as she tries to remember the conversation from a couple months ago. “Nah, I can’t remember the exact phrasing, but basically he went to Vegas because he found out something about you, that made him _sure_ that whatever you guys have together wasn’t real. He met Candy when she stole some stuff from him, and they wound up talking about their troubles, and decided to help each other out.”

“He found out something about me?” Chloe asks, baffled.

“Yeah, I didn’t quite follow that part, something about his dad putting you in his path and messing around with your feelings.” Ella shrugs, “Sorry, Chlo’, we were in Vegas and I’ve slept since then.”

“When did you go to Vegas with—” an idea occurs to her. “My birthday. You _both_ went to Vegas on my birthday, didn’t you?” Her hand goes up to grasp her bullet necklace before she remembers she took it off for Marcus, and her fingers caress her collarbone where it normally rests instead. _Okay, so he ran because he thought his Dad… God?...Oh Jesus, I’m never going to get used to this… was messing with our—_ my— _feelings? Can He_ do _that?_ She doesn’t know, and that worries her a little.

“But anyway, that’s not what you wanted to talk about, sorry. You wanted to talk about Lucifer’s interpretation of the Devil, yeah?” Ella offers hopefully.

Chloe sighs, considering. She _really_ wants to know what Ella knows about Lucifer’s motives in Vegas, and also anything else that he’s said about her specifically… but she’s past all that now, and she needs to stick to the current plan: Find out about the Devil she knows. Or, more accurately, _doesn’t_ know.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she concedes, and Ella tries to hide a small sigh of relief. “Okay, so, maybe you can start with anything specific you’ve noticed Lucifer saying that differs from what the church teaches? And I’d _really_ appreciate your thoughts on the matter, too.”

“Whew, that’s a _broad_ spectrum, Chloe,” Ella whistles appreciatively. “I’m probably not gonna be able to give you a dissertation today. Question, though—why don’t you just ask Lucifer? He’d be happy to go over it with you, I’m sure. He’s always been open to talking about it with me, and he loves—uh, talking with you just as much.”

Chloe lifts an eyebrow at her friend, who blinks back at her with innocent brown eyes. “I plan to talk to him about this eventually, but I’d like to go in a little fore-armed.”

“Ahhh, presearch. Gotcha.”

“Presearch?”

“Yeah, you know, pre-research?” Ella giggles, and Chloe rolls her eyes. “Oh, c’mon, you know that was funny. Fine. Let’s see… when I first met you guys it was that case with that stand-in with the rebar horns planted in her skull and we talked about how the devil gets a bad rap…”

Their chat goes on late into the evening, and while Chloe takes notes, she feels like the more she learns, the more questions she has. Finally, Ella looses an enormous yawn in the middle of an explanation of the Original Sin.

“Oh, jeez, I’m so sorry, it’s after 11—I really didn’t mean to keep you so late.”

“Nah, no worries—it’s actually kinda neat – like a Bible study course but without the judginess. I had fun!” Ella pats her shoulder as she gathers her bag and pulls out her phone.

“You know, I don’t want you to have to take a rideshare home at this hour… let me drive you. Or do you want to stay the night? I’ve got a spare room…”

“Welllll……” Ella considers for a moment. “You drank just as much wine as I did. Bob’ll be fine for the night, so I guess I can stay. Ooo! I can make waffles in the morning!”

Chloe laughs at her irrepressible friend. “Whatever you want, Ella. C’mon, it’s past my bedtime too. I’ll show you to your room.”

***************

Despite her mental exhaustion, Chloe lays awake for a long time that night, trying to fit together the pieces of the drunken jigsaw puzzle that is her partner. A few things make _more_ sense when she accepts that he is _not_ , after all, human. The confessions he’s drawn from people, for one. His incredible strength. His astonishing tolerance with illicit substances. His complete lack of understanding of human emotions aside from desire. The way people seem to fawn over him… _except for me._ But she had, kind of… eventually. Hadn’t she? _If God really was messing with my feelings… wouldn’t I have been head-over-heels for him from the beginning?_

She considers the time she went to Lucifer, drunk, when Dan had broken up with her via text. She’d been angling to sleep with him then—and he hadn’t acted on it. Had even barely teased her about it the next morning. She remembers the labored sounds of his breathing echoing around that hangar after Malcolm had shot him, and was hunting her. The words she couldn’t quite make out, but had the cadence of a plea. _What was he asking for? Who was he talking to?_ She remembers his impassioned defense of the content editors on the Wobble case—

_“No one chooses to be a sin-eater, Detective. No one wants to be custodian of the world's filth. Why would they? Absorbing the worst humanity has to offer, day in and day out. It changes you… People don't arrive broken. They start with passion and yearning till something comes along that disabuses them of those notions.”_

She remembers his panicky, way over-the-top concern for her safety after her car accident, and the desolation in his voice when he’d practically begged that sniper to shoot him only a few days later. His staunch attempt at supporting her during the Joe Fields/Perry Smith case. She replays the conversation she’d heard between Lucifer and Charlotte at the precinct.

_If Charlotte wasn’t Charlotte then… if that really_ was _his mom in the courtroom… what was she trying to prove? She_ wanted _me to call Lucifer a liar._ _Ella said his dad had put me in his path, and he would have found out about that not too long after… I wonder if those situations are related?_

She groans into her pillow in frustration. _Everything I learn only brings up more questions!_ She briefly considers just picking up the phone and calling Lucifer.

_“I’ve never lied to you, and I_ will _never lie to you.”_

But what if _that_ was a lie? She huffs a breath and rolls over, facing the middle of her bed and curling into a ball under her covers. At least she won’t have to deal with Lucifer at work tomorrow— It’s not unheard of for her to handle a case or two alone after a particularly intense one, and Marcus won’t mind if she doesn’t call him in.

_I’ve got time to think this through, and figure out what to do._


	2. Trying To Let You Go

Chloe’s morning has gotten off to a miserable start. Ella had left before she’d even woken up, leaving a note that she needed to head home for a shower and change before work, and Chloe had gotten ready for work while trying _not_ to think about yesterday’s world-altering revelations.

Then, as she was approaching her desk, Marcus had called her aside, and… she can’t _believe_ that she’d actually had sex with Marcus in the evidence closet—she’d chastised Lucifer for that _very thing_ so many times early in their partnership, and now here she was, following the devil’s lead.

 _Then_ Marcus had not only decided to accompany her on her assigned case, but also ordered her to call Lucifer in despite her protests, due to a witness claiming an _angel_ was involved, of all things.

Lucifer had met her at the scene with a delighted, “Look at that. It's always nice to start the day nose to nose, isn't it? Speaking of, you'll never guess what happened to me last night, Detective…” His cheer had melted away when Marcus had stepped out of the passenger side and interrupted him, and Chloe had lost the thread of their conversation by having a minor panic moment at coming nose-to-nose with the _actual Devil_ far sooner than she’d planned.

“Will he be coming with you from now on?” Lucifer asks her in an aside, “Because he is killing our banter.”

“Absolutely not, no. Pierce and I only came...” _Oh God, no… new word... USE A DIFFERENT WORD._ She can’t look him in the eye, and alternates between looking off to one side and squeezing her eyes shut as she waves her index finger in front of her awkwardly, “ _Drove_ together just this one time. One time.” She clears her throat.

“Right…” he draws out the word, looking at her strangely. She sees the moment when he notices that she’s no longer wearing her necklace, the flash of hurt in his eyes quickly buried by annoyance as Marcus comes up behind him and claps him on the shoulder.

“Apparently... the victim's from a well-connected family. The suits downtown want me to keep them in the loop. Don't worry, I won't interfere with the investigation, or the, uh, dream team.” He places a heavy hand on Chloe’s shoulder and instead of feeling a thrill of connection, she feels an unpleasant chill. It feels… _proprietary_. “Now, if you'll excuse me.”

“Okay. Shall we?” She clears her throat again as Marcus walks away, and she starts off in the opposite direction past Lucifer, who catches the elbow of her jacket.

“Uh... you have DNA on your shirt.”

“What?” She gasps, frantically searching until he reaches out and pulls a piece of an evidence sticker from the hemline of her blouse. She sighs with a little _too much_ relief and laughs clumsily. “Oh... um... Oh, weird.”

She hurries away with Lucifer gazing suspiciously after her, and goes to find Ella photographing the body, which only gets _more_ uncomfortable when she’s reminded that Ella’s lab shares a wall with the evidence closet… the same wall that she and Marcus had…

 _Focus on the case, Decker._ They interview the witness, who does indeed insist that an angel saved her from the gunman that had killed Kevin Winstead. Lucifer had laughed off the possibility, muttering something about lending Gabriel money under his breath. Marcus approaches and Chloe retreats from both of them, opting to do a final sweep of the scene, leaving them with an attempt at a joke—

“Hey, maybe it was one of your brothers.” Lucifer’s sigh stutters as she walks away, and she hears Marcus’ low voice ring out.

“Seriously, is it one of your brothers?” He sounds completely sincere, and the chill that she’d felt when Marcus had touched her shoulder now crawls down her back. _Does Marcus_ know _about Lucifer, or is he only pretending to play into his delusions?_

“Preposterous. My Father doesn't send my siblings down to intervene in petty robberies in Pacoima.” Lucifer spits as his phone rings and he fumbles it out of his pocket. “He only sends them to harass me. Oh, and speaking of...”

Chloe leans against the wall in the next room, out of sight and tries to consider what it means if Marcus _does_ know about Lucifer. _Did Lucifer show him, too? How long has he known?_ She’d known they’d had… _something_ together, Lucifer had been very interested in the Lieutenant before Marcus had really started pursuing Chloe… _Maybe I can talk to Marcus about what Lucifer is._

She invites him over to her apartment that afternoon to talk, but as soon as he’s through the door his lips are on hers and she’s swept away again into a lust-driven haze—this time at least, in the privacy of her living room.

Some time later, they’re sitting panting on the floor as they recover—it had happened so quickly they hadn’t even undressed, again—when Chloe realizes that Trixie and her sitter will be home any minute and panics, moving him toward the door.

There’s a moment of unease, a small yellow—or possibly red—flag when Marcus seems angry, starts to argue when she balks at introducing him to Trixie, where he suddenly looms larger over her… but he settles again quickly into his normal sweet disposition. Then a text from Lucifer about the case sends her haring off to meet him instead. She feels like a volleyball being bounced between the two, and she’s increasingly worried about getting spiked into the sand.

 _If he’s shown Charlotte, and maybe Marcus…_ why _hasn’t he shown me?_

****************

“Hey, what was that about?” They’re walking out to the Corvette from the Sunrise Sands rehab facility. She’s a little reluctant to have this discussion, but Lucifer seems to be spiraling around the possibility that _he_ might be the angel that the witness claims to have seen. _How could he not know?_

“It's nothing.” He stops and turns to face her from the other side of the car.

“That was not nothing. Talk to me.” _Tell me_ something _, Lucifer, please._ He takes a step back toward her.

“Look, I just haven't been sleeping well. That's all... but never mind that, what's next?” He glances back toward the car, eager to get moving.

“What's next is you take the afternoon off. Get some rest.” _Give me some space to try to figure out how to handle all this… literal Luciferness._

“What? I'd rather go and find the killer.” He approaches the passenger side door, preparing to open it for her to climb inside.

“It's not a suggestion, Lucifer. Look, I'm gonna spend the rest of the day poring through Kevin's file, trying to figure out who his family is. We probably won't know anything until tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” his brow creases in concern, and his deep brown eyes plead with her for a different answer.

“Go home. You're tired.” _And I’m not ready to have you nearby until I’ve had more time to think._

“Okay, fine. But,” he leans in swiftly, and she freezes in surprise as his hand brushes against her hip, coming away with her handcuffs, “only if I can borrow these.” Confusion crosses her face. “Well, I promise I'll bring them back.”

“Please don't.” she tells him, adding under her breath, “Ew.”

He drops her back at the precinct with barely another word between them, and she doesn’t hear from him at all until early the next morning when he arrives at her desk, even more agitated than the day before. She gives in and takes him with her to interview the victim’s ex-girlfriend, where they manage to obtain some maybe-useful information in the form of Kevin owing money to a possible drug dealer.

Back at the precinct, Lucifer is pacing restlessly behind her as she searches the database for information on Kevin’s dealer. Chloe finds her apprehension at working with the devil waning in favor of her exasperation of working with _her partner_ as she tries to settle him down.

“Look… getting a hit, it might take some time. So why don't you go home, get some sleep and...”

He sighs and paces back toward her, leaning down to murmur, “I can't.”

“Why?” She whispers dramatically back. She turns and finds him closer than she expected, so she whips back to her computer for a second to recover before facing him again.

“Because,” he continues earnestly, and she finds herself leaning forward to listen more closely, “if I _am_ this Angel of San Bernardino, and I go to sleep, then I might do it again.”

“Lucifer…” she sighs, exasperated, “ _why_ are you so determined to prove this angel wasn’t you? Afraid of the Devil getting some _good_ press for once?”

“Detective,” his voice wavers and her eyes flick up unwillingly to meet his. She notices stress lines that hadn’t been there a few days ago as he replies quietly, “If it _is_ me, then my father is manipulating me to _act_ like an angel _in my sleep_. I refuse to have anything to do with his manipulations… so I _must_ know!”

“Okay, well, just don't sleep then.” She forces the joke as she transfers her gaze on her monitor. _Please just go…_

“Hold on,” he breathes in relief, “That is an _excellent_ plan, Detective. I'll just never sleep again!” She can hear the smile in his voice as he bustles around her desk toward the stairs with a breezy, “Text me when you have news, Detective!”

She watches her manic partner worriedly as he ascends the stairs with a jaunty bounce to his step even as she breathes a sigh of relief as the Devil retreats from her vicinity.

As her queries about the dealer come to nothing, she uses her time to have more conversations with Ella about devil lore vs “theoretical” reality when applied to Lucifer. Finally, after three days of blissful silence and distance from Lucifer, during which she tells herself that she hasn’t worried about his complete radio silence _at all,_ she texts Linda and asks to meet up for a conversation. 

**************

“Chloe!” Linda grins as she opens the door to her anxiously fidgeting friend. “How have you been? Come in! Red or white?”

“Um, whatever you’re having is fine,” Chloe replies distractedly as she crosses the threshold into the neat living room. Linda gestures to the sofa and crosses the room to pour two glasses of a pale white wine before presenting one to Chloe and seating herself nearby.

“So what brings you to my humble abode mid-week?” Linda asks lightly, accurately reading Chloe’s agitation.

“Well,” Chloe takes a sip of her wine, stalling for time to frame her scattered thoughts. “I… wanted to talk to you about, um, Lucifer.”

“I’m happy to listen, Chloe, but you know I can’t discuss anything we talk about in our sessions,” Linda sits up straighter and sets her glass down, gazing at her friend in concern.

“No, I know that Linda, but… I don’t know who else to ask and,” she sighs deeply, eyes fluttering closed as a tear tracks down her cheek, “I think you might be the only one that can help me.”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” Linda’s voice is serious now that Chloe’s turmoil is more evident. _Lucifer hasn’t indicated that anything’s gone wrong recently, aside from his nightmares and potential sleep-flying… what could have happened that has Chloe so upset?_

“I… don’t…” Chloe’s eyes flutter open and they’re rimmed with red. “I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, Chloe,” Linda reassures her readily. “It’s all right, totally safe space here. Just tell me what’s got you so upset.”

“I—I think Lucifer might actually be telling the truth?” She phrases it as a question, but deliberately leaves it open for Linda’s interpretation. Her friend’s eyes widen a little, and she leans into the armrest of the couch behind her.

“About what?” Linda asks carefully.

“That… um…” Chloe can’t force herself to say the words, but makes little flappy wing motions with her hands instead.

“Wait… you—you know?” Linda stammers, her voice suddenly an octave higher than usual. “Did he _show_ you?? _What_ did he tell you?”

 _“You_ know!?” Chloe accuses, shocked not at Linda’s surprise, but at the direction her surprise had taken. “How long have you known?”

“Okay, wait,” Linda holds up her hands in a patting, ‘settle down’ motion. “Let’s clarify _exactly_ what we’re talking about here, before we really get our signals crossed.” Chloe looks back at her apprehensively. “Okay… together then? On three?” Her friend nods in relief, and she counts them in.

“One. Two. Three…”

_“Lucifer’s the devil.”_

They say the words in complete tandem, then stare at each other in wide-eyed awe.

“Oh my God, you _do_ know!” Linda exclaims shrilly. “And… are you okay? How did you find out?”

Chloe opens her mouth, but no words escape and she swallows hard, more tears chasing the first down her cheeks.

“I mean… he _tells_ you all the time, but you’ve never shown any inclination of believing him before. I only ask because Lucifer hasn’t called me in a panic, so I assume he didn’t outright _tell_ you, and… Oh, Chloe, come here…” Chloe had dropped her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking with small sobs and Linda gathers her into a soothing embrace. “How long have you been trying to deal with this all alone?”

“Uh… not quite a week?” she shivers in her friend’s arms and works to get herself back under control. “I’ve been trying to distance myself from him while I think it through, but I just keep thinking of _more questions_ , and I can’t just… _ask him_.”

“Why don’t you tell me how you figured it out, Chloe?” Linda suggests gently, rubbing her shoulders gently.

“I, um… I went to Lux last week to talk to him, because things had been… uncomfortable between us since I started dating Marcus, and I wanted to see if we could clear it up a little.” Linda nods encouragingly, and she continues with a little more confidence. “The club was closed, but of course the doors were unlocked so I went in, and… Amenadiel was there… and Charlotte Richards—she’s an attorney—”

“I’m familiar with Ms. Richards,” Linda supplies, and Chloe nods.

“I was up on the second tier and heard Lucifer talking to Amenadiel and he sounded worried, so I stopped… and… um, he showed her his wings.”

“You saw his wings,” Linda breathes, and she seems relieved. “You haven’t talked to him about it though? That you know?”

“I want to know as much as possible before I confront him with it,” Chloe sniffles, pulling out of the hug. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about _everything_ I can remember him telling me since I’ve known him, and I haven’t been able to spot a lie yet, but… he’s the _devil_ , Linda! How long have you known?”

“I’ve known for awhile now, almost a year,” the other woman admits, and Chloe’s eyes widen in shock. “I didn’t take it well at first—you’re doing _much_ better than I did— but Maze eventually helped me get past my fears.”

Chloe vaguely remembers an exchange between Lucifer and Maze in her kitchen, not long after he’d tried to get himself killed by that sniper.

 _“Thanks to you, I lost my friend.”_ Maze had accused him as she was sitting at the bar in their kitchen.

 _“Friend?”_ Lucifer had scoffed, _“What friend?”_

 _“The_ doctor _.”_ She’d glared at him as though the answer was obvious.

_“I was just working through some stuff. I didn't think that showing...”_

“So what, did he just pop his wings out in your office?” Chloe muses, curious.

“Mmm, something like that,” Linda hems a bit. “I thought he was still speaking in metaphors and basically told him I couldn’t help him if he wouldn’t tell me the whole truth… I didn’t know that he _had been_ telling me the truth the entire time until he showed me. But really, how are _you_ taking it? I know it’s a lot…”

“It _is_ a lot!” Chloe nods, a little too fast and too long for someone with both mental feet securely on the floor. “I’ve been talking with Ella, because she has a really open view of religion, and… and I thought the church might be a little biased.”

“Hoo boy, you’re not kidding there!” Linda laughs, and it’s a real one, from deep in her belly. “It’s not just the church, though, even his _family_ … ahem.” She catches herself before she can go too far with that revelation, her face coloring with embarrassment. “Sorry, it’s just… it’s a bit of a relief to have another _human_ to talk to about this. Though it sounds like Charlotte is in the know now, too?”

“Yeah,” Chloe nods again, a little slower this time. “She was so relieved, she said because she thought she was going crazy. She ran right up to Lucifer and hugged him, wings and all!”

“How did he react?” Linda asks curiously.

“Have you ever seen him react to a hug?” a small smile crosses her face.

“Erm, no, I can’t say that I have.”

“He just… freezes up. He stands up straight and his hands pop up and out like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with them,” she laughs softly, shaking her head. “It’s actually kind of adorable. I’ve never understood how someone so _comfortable_ with sex could be so… skittish with casual affection.”

“Think about it for a second with your new knowledge, and I think you’ll find your answer.” Linda encourages quietly, her face now somber. “How often in his—very _long_ —life do you think the devil has been offered casual affection?”

The smile slides off Chloe’s face as she considers this. “You know, I used to just think that he’d had a rough childhood—distant parents, maybe some bullying siblings. Maybe abuse, with those horrible scars on his back. Maybe…” she drifts off on that thought for a moment until Linda brings her back with a gentle prod.

“Maybe?”

“Maybe I wasn’t wrong, just… on a bigger scale?” Linda’s eyes are warm, and Chloe feels as though she’s struck on something here. “I mean, he’s definitely got the temptation thing down, with the sex and charm and his mojo… I can see where those stories come from, but… Linda… I _don’t_ think he’s evil.”

“I would agree with you on that, Chloe,” Linda concurs quietly, finally picking up her glass again and taking a sip. Chloe does the same. “If he was evil, I wouldn’t still be seeing him as a patient, let alone consider him a friend.”

“You really do?” Chloe asks plaintively, “Even knowing… what we know?”

“I truly do,” Linda nods heavily. “I said the same thing to my ex-husband when he came barreling into my office and shot Lucifer on my couch… he’s a _good man.”_

“He _shot_ him?” Chloe gasps, “When? Did he miss? He hasn’t missed any work, or…”

“It didn’t hurt him, he’s invulnerable.”

“Well, except… he’s not anymore…” Chloe trails off at Linda’s closed expression. “Right?”

“I can’t answer that, Chloe, I’m sorry.” Linda does look sorry, but Chloe accepts that she can’t breach her patient’s privacy. She opts for a change of subject, instead. “So… if you don’t think he’s evil, then what brings you here today?”

“I just… Linda, it’s so _much_!” Chloe puffs a heavy sigh through pursed lips, trying to articulate the continuous explosion occurring in her mind. “The _devil_ is here in LA, working with the LAPD to track down murderers. He’s my partner. He’s an OCD neat-freak with zero filter from thoughts to lips that steals my ex-husband’s pudding snacks from the precinct fridge! He’s completely emotionally unaware. I… I’m pretty sure he’s saved my life at least once—probably more, honestly. My daughter loves him and he’s _terrified of her,_ but now I’m terrified that I’m a horrible mother because the devil and a demon are her best friends. He’s _my_ best friend… I almost started a _relationship with Satan,_ Linda. I kissed him! I thought I was f… I mean… there’s so much more, but it just keeps hitting me and… how do I deal with this?”

“Well…” Linda offers slowly, thinking through her words very carefully. “I think you should talk with him, if or when you’re ready to learn the real answers to your questions.”

“If?” Chloe tilts her head curiously.

“You have the option to walk away from all this, Chloe,” Linda supplies gently, “I know Lucifer would tell you the same. I know it’s a lot to take in, and you’re worried about what it all means, and about Trixie as well.”

“I can’t just run away from my life here, Linda,” Chloe protests. “LA is my home, it’s Trixie’s home. My job is here… my friends are here.”

“If Lucifer thought you were afraid of him, he would leave for you,” Linda’s tone is utterly certain. Chloe thinks about that for a moment. She remembers Lucifer’s impassioned speech about Lux when he was in danger of losing it to a greedy developer. She remembers the incredulous joy on his face when she presented him with the paperwork declaring Lux a landmark historical site.

_“Detective, you… you saved my home!”_

“LA is _his_ home, too,” she shakes her head, unable— _unwilling_ — to imagine him anywhere else, anywhere other than playing, singing, and dancing at Lux, standing at the bar with his elegant accoutrements surrounding him as she steps off the elevator with his signature cadence of _“Detective!”_. Her throat closes up at even just the thought of him leaving LA, leaving _her_ —recalling white sheets and an echoingly empty penthouse. “No. No, Linda, he belongs here. I would never ask that of him.”

“Then,” Linda smiles warmly, as though she approves of Chloe’s answer, “LA is a big city. I suppose what it comes down to is… do you want him in your life, or not?”

*****************

A few days later she finally gets a lead she can chase. She picks up her phone three separate times before she finally decides a text to Lucifer will suffice – she tells herself that she doesn’t want to bother him if he’s sleeping, or busy—then settles in a conference room with her laptop to review the footage she’d been sent.

When her phone rings a few minutes later she jumps nervously, and when she glances at the caller ID, the anxiety doesn’t abate. She argues with herself about letting it go to voicemail, but her finger slips and hits the accept button, so she goes with it.

“Hey Maze,” she works to keep her voice casual, “Haven’t heard from you in a while, what’s up?”

“Well, you know,” her ex-roommate (Ex-roomdemon?) purrs, “been on some pretty intense bounties lately, and, uh, we didn’t exactly leave things on the best of terms, so I thought I’d keep my distance for a while, let you cool down and all.”

“Look, I'm glad you called.” It _is_ good to hear Maze’s voice, but something in it doesn’t sound quite… right. _Is it because I know she’s a demon now?_ “Um, but it's just gonna take some time. I'm still upset, and so is Trixie.”

“I know,” Maze responds, a little too quickly, a little too smoothly. “I'm fine to take it at whatever pace you need me to. Fast or slow. Whatever it takes.”

Chloe’s blood stands still. “Wait, what did you say?”

" ‘Fast or slow’. Why?” Alarm bells are ringing in Chloe’s head, and she’s flashing back to her little yellow/red flag moment with Marcus last week…

_“Listen, fast or slow, whatever the speed, I'm into this. If you haven't figured it out, Chloe, I'm in... I like you.”_

“It just...” she snaps herself out of the memory, “nothing. Reminds me of something someone else said.”

“Well, if you go by someone else's pace, it shows how much you really care.” 

“That's... incredibly insightful.” And very much _not Maze_. Something is going on here. If Marcus knows about Lucifer, then it’s very likely he knows Maze as well, and if that’s the case…

“I learned it from sex.” She says smugly, and Chloe stifles a smile despite her new worries.

“That's… more you. All right, well, thanks, Maze.” The demon disconnects the call and Chloe turns back to her laptop just as Lucifer materializes at her side.

“I got your text,” he blurts as she flinches at his sudden appearance. He leans on the table, hovering beside her in a state of disarray she hasn’t seen since… since the sniper case. Her heart stutters a little at the comparison, but it’s accurate save for the fact that Lucifer seems more manic than depressive for this case. She buys herself a moment to compose herself by exhaling heavily and demanding sharply, with all the concern she definitely _hasn’t_ felt for him,

“Where have you been all week?”

He gazes at her blankly. “Has it been a week?” He sounds sincerely surprised that so much time has passed and huffs a sigh as he pulls a chair over to collapse into.

“Yes,” She looks more closely at him and the more she sees, the more _real_ her concern becomes. His hair is disheveled, trousers and jacket wrinkled. His pocket square is hanging messily, half out of the pocket itself like a flag waving in defeat. “Um, hey, are you… okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” He blows a puff of air, waving off her query. “Fine. Rough night, juice cleanse. So what have we got, Booth?”

“Booth?” Lucifer launches into a tangent about his new favorite show, and Chloe watches him worriedly. _I’ve never even seen a TV in Lucifer’s apartment—what on Earth is going on?_ He prattles on as she loses herself in her concern for a moment before she finally pulls herself back to the present.

“... And the coccyx is not what it sounds.”

 _“No_ coccyx.” He silences himself immediately, nodding his head too quickly. She briefly goes over what she’s found, and he leans in, sniffling frequently. The familiar scent of whiskey and his cologne—though the cologne has faded to a mere whisper of what he would normally wear—envelops her as he brings himself nearly to her shoulder. Even knowing what she knows now about who— _what—_ he is, she’s not really surprised to find that she feels perfectly safe with him so close to her. His warmth radiates from him and she can feel it seeping into her back as he grips the back of her chair in order to huddle in front of the laptop screen to watch the surveillance video. She’s _missed_ him, missed his irrepressible presence this past week, even as she’s been struggling to accept her new reality… _his_ reality.

They catch up to their suspect at a wedding reception. Chloe chews her tongue, trying to ignore the fact that Lucifer actually _falls asleep standing up_ beside her in the elevator. He manages to hold it together until they confront the man in the parking garage, accepting a roll of cash from the groom. Chloe’s eyes narrow in suspicion as Lucifer accuses him not only of killing their victim, but also… an intern? In an incinerator?

“Lucifer!” she hisses, “Are you talking about an episode of _Bones_?”

The realization leads to Lucifer complimenting the man’s acting skills, which thankfully relaxes him enough that he willingly offers them the information that he was hired to keep Kevin on drugs, and gives them a lead in the form of Masquerade, Inc., an agency that sets up actors to play roles of friends, family members, and significant others for people that need the fill-ins.

Back at the precinct, Lucifer is nearly giddy at the new information, but Chloe’s concern is reaching Defcon 1.

“So, um... It says here the Masquerade office is in Hollywood. I'm driving.” He backs around the corner of her desk and starts pacing hurriedly toward the stairs.

“Lucifer,” she calls after him quietly and he turns, surprised that she hasn’t moved from her desk. “I won't be able to get a warrant until tomorrow morning.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.” he comes back to her desk, leaning over it intently, “It-it is imperative that we go now.”

“It's imperative that you sleep.” She stands from her chair, mirroring him by resting her hands on the opposite side of her desk. She certainly can’t let him drive in this condition, she’s going to have to take him back to Lux herself. “You clearly—"

“I can't sleep!” He bellows, eyes boring desperately into hers as he slams his hands down on the desk. She jumps back, the precinct stills around them, and he modulates himself to a softer tone, repeating brokenly, “Detective, I can't sleep.”

She meets his despairing eyes for a long moment and feels tears start to prickle in her own. She walks silently to the nearest interrogation room and opens the door, turning back to him and raising an eyebrow. He glances around before following her, raking his fingers through his wild hair as he edges past her into the room. She closes the door behind them and turns to find him standing with his back to her, his hands fisted tight in his hair. He sighs, and it sounds like a sob.

“Lucifer. I've had it.” He turns to face her as she speaks, his hands sliding over his face and his fingers tapping a manic rhythm on his cheeks as his wide eyes hold hers.

“You won't understand, will you.” He interrupts her, desperately trying to cut off the tirade he’s sure is coming. “It's my wings. They're back. My Father, he's manipulating me. He's making me do things that I would never do.”

“Okay…” Chloe says slowly, trying to help alleviate some of his crippling anxiety, “Like flying through the night, helping people like some rogue angel?”

“Yes! Yes, exactly! That is the only plausible explanation.” He squeaks a laugh, and his voice gains a despondent air, “Either that or Linda's right, and I'm suppressing pent-up feelings about you and _Pierce_ ,” he nearly spits the name like an expletive, “which is obviously absurd.”

“You hate that I'm with him.” There’s definitely _something_ more to this… she’s seen Lucifer jealous before, but he’s never been… _this_.

“I couldn't care less that you're with that insolent… dullard.” He tries to play it cocky, but it just comes out sounding defeated.

“We both know that's not true, and I thought that you don’t lie?” She calls him out on his half-hearted attempt at deceit.

“Does it count as a lie if I’m _trying_ to make it true?” Lucifer sinks miserably into the chair and braces his elbows on the suspects’ side of the table, head down, gripping his hair tightly in his hands again. His throat works as he swallows, as if the words are burning him from within. “If I’m… _trying_ to let you go, to be happy? Trying like bloody mad to make myself believe it?”

“What I want to know is why it bothers you so much.” Her heart trembles in her chest, and she wants _so badly_ to believe he cares for her the way she does—did, she tells herself, _did—_ for him.

“Because, Detective,” he pulls in a ragged breath and his red-rimmed eyes are wide in his pale face, holding hers. “I want you to be happy, but… I do happen to know him better than you, and I know that you can't trust him.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” She prods, keeping her tone detached.

“I... Yeah. Fine, I will, because you deserve to know the truth.”

“Yes, okay,” _I know some of it already… but not enough… Not enough to confront you about it yet, anyway._

“Pierce isn't Pierce. He's Cain from the Bible. And he's immortal.” His voice gets louder and more frantic as the litany goes on until he’s nearly shouting, and Chloe's heart thuds in her ears as she suddenly feels like she can’t breathe. “He's been around for eons. And all he cares about is ridding himself of that stupid curse that my father put on him... because he killed his brother—"

“Stop, Stop!” she shouts back, and he lapses into reluctant silence, angry tremors wracking his lean frame. _If Marcus is Cain… No. He can’t be. Lucifer_ has _to be wrong._ “You're tired, and you're not thinking clearly.”

“No... No,” he howls, so upset now that he jumps to his feet, nearly dancing in place, he brings his fists up to hammer against his forehead in his frustration at not being heard, “I'm... it's not because I'm tired, Detective!”

“But since you brought it up, let me tell you what I think about Marcus. He is a good man who treats me right. And I'm happy, Lucifer.” His exhausted expression is overtaken by a blank mask as she speaks, as though he knows what’s coming and he’s trying to brace for it with all his rapidly waning strength. She keeps talking, trying to erase the words that he’s just poured into her consciousness and replace them with what _she_ knows. “And all I know is how I feel when I'm around him, and, you know, I lo...” She stops as his mask abruptly shatters, leaving his anguish plainly written across his face and she can’t bring herself to continue the thought. “I... you know what, we're done here.”

She walks to the door and opens it, turning back to see him standing with shoulders slumped, head hanging in resignation.

“Are you coming?” she asks after a moment.

His head snaps up at her voice, he’d expected her to be gone already. “I… I don’t—”

She crosses the room to him and grabs his elbow, gently guiding him to the door. “I said we’re done here, we can’t do any more tonight, and I need my partner to get his head on straight. If you’re afraid to sleep because you think you’re going to go flying off into the night like some kind of winged vigilante, then you can sleep at my place so I can wake you if you move.”

“I’m—what?” She doesn’t know if his confusion is due to his exhaustion— _has he really not slept the entire week since she saw him last?—_ or because of her rapid about-face from the intense conversation they’ve just had, but he lets her drag him inexorably up the stairs to the lift that will take them to the parking garage.

“Come on Lucifer, you’re coming home with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Chloe's a bit all over the board here, but she's working through her stuff. She just needs some time to process what she's learning!


	3. I May Have Broken Lucifer

He protests the entire way to the cruiser, and continues to resist until she gently places two fingers on his chest and lightly pushes him backward into the passenger seat. He looks up at her, shocked that she’d managed to move him so easily.

“You’re beyond exhausted,” she explains quietly. “Sleep deprivation is dangerous, Lucifer, if you really haven’t slept in a week, you’re not safe to drive, or to do _anything_ other than sleep. If you’re worried about… sleep-flying, or… or whatever, I’ll watch out for you, okay?”

“Detective, I can’t—”

“This is not an option, Lucifer,” she says firmly, nudging his feet with hers until he swings them into the car so she can close the door. “It’s not an invitation, it’s not a proposition. This is me, helping my partner because he refuses to help himself. People _have_ to sleep.”

“I’m not human, remember?” he says petulantly through the closed window, and it’s not hard to roll her eyes as she circles the car to her side, even though she now really knows that he’s not. “I don’t need—”

“Clearly even _the devil_ needs sleep, Lucifer, because you’re all but dead on your feet,” she points out as she climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Believe me, Detective,” he grumbles, I know what dead feels like, and it’s nowhere near this miserable.”

“Oh yeah?” she lifts an eyebrow at him. “Why don’t you tell me about that, then? _If_ you can stay awake.” She smirks as he stifles an enormous yawn.

“You already know, darling,” he slurs, leaning his tousled head against the window, dark eyes watching her warily. “I _told_ you both times, even if you don’t believe me.” 

“Tell me again?” she wheedles, and his sigh is long-suffering. “You never really gave me details, you know.”

“I don’t understand why you’re suddenly pretending to be interested,” he argues half-heartedly, “we both know that you merely believe me to be spinning an elaborate web of metaphors rather than telling you the absolute truth.”

“Maybe I’m willing to be persuaded,” she throws out casually, “or maybe you could actually show me some _proof_ of your claims?”

“I _tried_ , Detective, after my devil-napping!” his eyes focus on nothing outside the window, or perhaps he’s watching her reflection in the glass. “I was coming to tell you everything just before that, but now… I’ve told you, my father has taken my devil face, so I _can’t show_ you.”

“And there’s really _no other way_ you could prove you’re the devil.” Chloe states flatly, disbelief dripping from every word. “You said your wings are back.”

“They _are,_ but they’re not an accurate reflection of _who I am_ ,” he argues stridently, “I am _not_ an angel, I haven’t been for a very long time, and I’d really rather you think I’m delusional than believe better of me than I deserve because of those feathery nuisances! I’ve shown you my strength, my abilities to draw out desires… of course you’re stubbornly immune to my charm… and you’ve completely ignored them.” He sighs, head bowed. “I know I’m the devil, but… I just wish you could believe in _me_ , Detective.”

“Tell me about your face, then, Lucifer,” she suggests gently. _Tell me anything._ “Why is it a more accurate representation of you than your wings?”

“My wings represent my father, divinity and light,” he murmurs, his forehead resting heavily against the window. “That’s why I was so frantic to find them when Amenadiel had them stolen—the divinity in them can drive humans to a kind of madness. I refuse to be my father’s creature ever again, so when he put them back on me, I kept cutting them off… again and again, and he would just slap them right back on. I’ve finally given up… too time consuming, and Maze won’t help me anymore. My face… my face reflected what I became when I was cast into Hell… a monster. And he’s taken it away.”

Chloe considers this quietly for a while, both hands on the wheel as she focuses on the drive back to her apartment. She remembers the enormous, badly-healed scars on his back, and tries to imagine inflicting that on yourself… not once, but multiple times. The amount of pain… the blood loss… even if heals as quickly as he says he does, it wouldn’t be a quick or pleasant procedure, _especially_ if he was cutting them off himself. Lucifer’s breathing deepens and evens next to her, and when she looks he’s sagged against the door, sound asleep. Her chest tightens as she takes in the dark bags under his eyes and the lines around them that haven’t relaxed even in sleep.

“Lucifer, I need you to _really talk to me_ ,” she whispers, gripping the wheel tightly in her hands as she turns into her neighborhood. A niggling voice in the back of her mind speaks up, _Come on, Decker, you can’t even talk to_ him _, can’t even tell him you_ believe him. _How can you expect him to just open up to you now, when you’ve disregarded him so many times?_ And it’s true that he’s continuing to talk with her as he always has—telling her anything she wishes to know… but it feels all wrong because _he_ doesn’t know that _she_ knows.

She pulls into her parking space and shuts off the engine, rubbing her palms roughly over her face. She reaches over and gently shakes his shoulder, with no acknowledgement.

“Lucifer,” she calls, shaking him a bit harder, to his apparent dismay. He groans and turns away from her, pressing further against the door in an attempt to escape the onslaught. “C’mon Lucifer, let’s get inside so you can sleep more comfortably.”

“Nnnnn,” he curls in on himself, making a negative sound deep in his throat, and she chuckles at the resemblance to trying to wake Trixie for school. She half expects him to come back with, ‘Five more minutes!’.

She exits the car, walks around to the passenger side and opens the door, causing him to jolt awake or fall out of his seat. He wakes with a gasp, looking around disoriented before looking up at her in confusion.

“Come on,” she holds out a hand and he stares at it dazedly, “Up you get. Inside.”

He continues to stare at her hand, and she slowly reaches for his elbow, tugging him out of the car and slowly guiding him up the walk to her front door. She’s digging for her keys when he places his hand on the doorknob and opens it for them, waiting unsteadily for her to lead the way inside. She does, closing and locking the door firmly behind them.

“How _do_ you do that?” 

“Things just like opening to me, Detective,” the words run together and she notices him swaying on his feet.

“Think you can make it upstairs?” She glances at him doubtfully, “The only other option is the couch, but you’re so long I don’t think it would be comfortable.”

“You have no idea, Detective,” he slurs with an exhausted attempt at a smirk.

“Oh, _ew_ , that is _not_ what I meant and you know it,” she shoves him toward the stairs, laughing. “Clearly if you have enough energy for innuendos, you have enough energy to make it upstairs. Go.”

“Truly, darling, I’ve had a catnap, I should be well enough for another day or two now—"

 _“Up. Stairs. Now.”_ Chloe unconsciously invokes her Mom Voice™ and he turns without further argument, tackling the stairs at a snail’s pace, occasionally leaning forward to balance himself with a hand on a higher step as he goes.

“You realize this isn’t going to work, yes?” he mutters as he weaves his way down the hallway. She tugs him to a halt outside Maze’s old room—her guestroom now.

“Why not?” Chloe asks, puzzled. “I’m a light sleeper, I’ll hear you moving around.”

“Several reasons,” his gaze is serious. “I’m _very_ fast, I’m silent when I want to be, and I don’t need to stumble through your apartment to leave—my wings can take me out of here without even leaving the room.”

“Hmm,” she muses. _If that’s accurate, he’s right._ “Do you _really_ think your father is making you fly around at night saving people like some kind of feathery superhero?”

“I don’t bloody _know_ , Detective, but Amenadiel doesn’t currently have wings, and we’re both fairly certain none of our siblings are down here doing so, so if it _is_ an angel, that only leaves _me_ as a possibility.” His jaw clenches, his eyes glinting angrily. “I refuse to be my father’s puppet!”

“Okay,” Chloe gives in, exhaustedly opening the door and ushering him inside the room. “I’ll sleep in here with you, and we’ll use handcuffs.”

“I, er, broke the set I took last week, Detective—earthly metal can’t hold me, I’m afraid.” It’s a measure of exactly _how_ tired he is now that he doesn’t even make a mention of her talking about sleeping with him and using handcuffs in the same breath.

“Well, we’ll cuff you to the headboard then, and it’ll at least slow you down a little and wake me up so I can wake you.” Chloe snaps, “this is _happening,_ Lucifer, you need sleep.”

He sinks bonelessly down to sit on the mattress when she gives him a light shove, too drained to argue anymore. He toes his shoes off and slumps onto his side, nestling into the pillow as he holds out his right hand for cuffing.

She pulls them from her belt and slaps one on him, wrapping the other around the post of the headboard. He nuzzles the pillow, not even bothering to try to get under the covers.

“Mmmh,” he groans, “smells like Ms. Lopez.”

Chloe huffs in surprise. _I guess we can add enhanced sense of smell to the superpower list?_ “She stayed over last week, we had kind of an impromptu girls’ night and I didn’t want her to take a ride share home so late.”

“Yer a good fren’, Det’c,” he slurs, finally losing his war with consciousness. He’s deeply asleep before she can respond, and she gazes down at her partner. He hadn’t even removed his _jacket_.

She briefly debates changing into her pajamas, but she decides to sleep in her clothes as well. This whole situation will be much easier to explain to Marcus if she adheres to that little detail, and points out that Lucifer is her _friend_ and needed her help. She doesn’t have the energy or the brainpower right now to try to process Lucifer’s frenzied revelation about Marcus earlier. She removes her belt, grabs a couple of blankets from the linen closet and drapes one over Lucifer, then tucks herself under the other. Lucifer is huddled on the far edge of his side, and she does the same as she turns out the light. _This will be fine._

*****************

She wakes in the morning with the knowledge that something is different. The angle of light hitting her face is wrong—did she oversleep? Her brain slowly comes to life as she wriggles into the warmth next to her, reluctant to open her eyes and find that she _is_ running late. The warm presence makes a contented humming noise, and she realizes she’s not alone… in fact, she’s _snuggled up_ with someone… she breathes in the scent of whiskey and faded cologne… _Lucifer._

The relaxation of the body she’s curled around tells her that he’s still deeply asleep, so she cracks her eyes open to take stock of the situation. He’s laying on his back, his cuffed wrist tucked under the edge of his pillow and his right side nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. Chloe’s nose is nestled into the unbelievably soft cotton of his shirt, and his jacket has rucked up under his armpit. Her arm is slung across his waist and her left leg drapes comfortably across his. His face is turned toward her and his long nose is buried in her hair, hot breaths puffing evenly through it. His left arm has wound up underneath her, and his relaxed hand rests lightly against the skin at the small of her back where her shirt has ridden up in the night.

 _“The guy is totes head over heels for you, Chloe.”_ Ella’s words from last week suddenly fill her mind. The worry she had felt for his condition last night floods into her waking memory, along with their tense confrontation in the interrogation room. She doesn’t move away yet, but moves her hand from his waist so that her palm rests above his heart, feeling the steady thump beneath her hand as she wonders how she’s going to explain to Marcus that Lucifer spent the night at her place…

_“Pierce isn't Pierce. He's Cain from the Bible. And he's immortal… He's been around for eons… all he cares about is ridding himself of that stupid curse that my Father put on him... because he killed his brother—"_

_Was that just exhausted, jealous rambling, or is that the truth?_ She wonders. She considers Pierce asking Lucifer if the angel the witness claimed to have seen _was_ one of his brothers… and his sense of humor really doesn’t strike that way. _He knows something. If he knows that Lucifer is the devil… he_ could be _an immortal…_

 _Well…_ she considers dryly, _whether it was one of Lucifer’s brothers or not, there was definitely no sleep-flying for him last night._ She gives herself a generous moment to enjoy the warmth, the solidity of him before she starts to slowly pull away, hoping not to wake him as she moves. She’s back on her side of the bed before she breathes a sigh of relief, and Lucifer tries to roll in her direction, as though seeking her warmth, but the cuffs bring him up short and he startles awake with a grunt. He holds his cuffed wrist up in front of his face with a half-smile before he glances around and sees her lying beside him, watching him.

He freezes into that otherworldly stillness she’s only ever noticed in _him_ , muscles locked, not breathing, eyes fixed on hers.

“Detective? What—?” His voice is dry and cracked, raspy with exhaustion and sleep.

“You didn’t go vigilante last night, Lucifer, it’s fine.” She gives him a small smile, and tension slowly drains from him. “I’ll unlock the cuffs, and you can go back to sleep for a while, okay?”

“Hmm,” his eyes are already closed, and she thinks he’s asleep before she really finishes the sentence. She examines him carefully—the dark bags under his eyes are definitely lighter, and the stress lines less evident, but still in place. She slides off the bed and neatly folds the blanket she’d used before finding her cuff key and circling the bed to unfetter him. She removes the one from the headboard first, gently lowering his hand to the mattress before unlocking the one on his wrist, and she sucks in a breath when she sees that the metal has cut into the skin of his arm overnight. She can see some slight bruising, and her fingers gently trace the ruddy line around his wrist. His long fingers suddenly catch hers and her gaze snaps up to meet his bleary brown eyes, still half-lidded with sleep and only inches from her own.

“I’m sorry, it looks like I might have gotten it a little too tight—”

“S’alright Detective,” he murmurs thickly, “I’ll heal the moment I go home to change. Thank you.”

“For what?” she whispers, caught in his magnetic field, drawn in by nothing more than _him_.

“For… caring,” he answers slowly, after a long moment where she wonders if he’s fallen asleep again. “For… taking care of me.”

“Of course I care about you, Lucifer,” she reminds him quietly, but his loose grip on her hand slides away and he doesn’t reply further aside from a snuffling snore. She startles when her phone vibrates in her pocket and she backs away, tracing a light touch along his cheek as she moves to the hallway to avoid disturbing him.

“Decker.”

“Detective Decker, I’ve started your paperwork for the warrant for Masquerade Inc,” Officer Murphy’s chipper voice fills her ear. “Just wanted to let you know it should be approved for you by lunch.”

“Thanks Murphy, I really appreciate it.”

“You guys must have been here late, huh?” she continues, her tone friendly. “I know Scoretti was here at the desk ‘til nine.”

“Yeah, it was a really long day,” Chloe admits with a sigh.

“Is that partner of yours okay? We haven’t seen him around for a while.”

“He’s been… busy.” _What had he been doing to keep himself awake for a_ week _? Aside from watching Bones?_ “Hopefully he’ll be back soon.”

“I hope so, we’ve missed him around here.”

“Yeah… me too. Thanks Murphy, you’ll send the warrant to my e-mail when it comes through?”

“You got it Decker. Go get ‘em.”

With nothing to do but wait for the warrant to come through, Chloe tackles some paperwork, and once she’s finished with that decides to go through Masquerade’s website to prepare for her visit. She’s clicking through the gallery and comes across an unexpectedly familiar face.

 _Jeremy Bell? Kevin Winstead’s ex-girlfriend’s husband?_ She reaches for her phone, redialing the precinct.

“Murphy, I’m gonna need to change up that warrant.”

***************

Lucifer has vanished when she goes upstairs to tell him about the development in the case, the bedclothes straightened and smoothed as though hotel housekeeping had just passed through. Chloe dials him, but he doesn’t pick up, and now she worries. _Did he fly off to do good deeds in his sleep? Or did he go somewhere else?_

Her warrant comes through and she arrives at the Bell home with backup to find Jeremy huddled against the bay window bench, with his arms squeezing the life out of a decorative pillow and a confession ready on his lips. When she scans the room she finds a tumbler of scotch and small pile of cigarette ash, and knows _exactly_ what happened. She finds herself torn between wanting to go to Lux and demand answers and wanting to go home to think about everything she’d learned last night. Home wins—but only just.

She spends the day researching Marcus this time, and finds a few key bits of information. Marcus Pierce looks _exactly_ the same in every photo she can find of him. She sees no evidence of the passage of time whatsoever between the photos on her phone, and the photos from Chicago PD 5 years ago. Before that, she’s unable to find _any_ photos of him at all. It’s like when she’d tried to research Lucifer’s origins, before she’d believed him—he’d just materialized in 2011, larger than life.

Of course, she knows now that Lucifer had been ruling in Hell—a very good reason not to leave a paper trail on Earth. But a human—a _normal_ human—should have left more of a visual trail to follow… unless he was having to constantly swap identities to avoid people finding out he’s actually immortal.

She thinks back to when Pierce first arrived, his initial interest in Lucifer and his antagonism toward her in particular. The way he’d shot down every attempt she’d made to approach him, to break the ice, to connect… then it was like a switch had been flipped. He’d invited himself along to the Axara concert, and she’d gone along with it, thinking that Lucifer had lost interest, but she’d seen the look on her partner’s face when she’d told him that she was taking Pierce with the second ticket. He’d hidden it quickly but his hurt was real, and it wasn’t all from the stab wound that he’d received protecting _her._

 _So…_ if _he’s immortal—_ which, she admits to herself, is looking more and more possible— _how do I go about proving it? Do I need to prove it? Can I just ask him? ‘Hey Marcus, have you ever gone by another name? Or maybe a few thousand other names?_

She remembers sitting in the car on the Sinnerman stakeout before Lucifer had called to inform her he’d broken free of his trap, Marcus’s confession that the Sinnerman had killed his brother. That hadn’t seemed like a lie, there had been _real_ emotion there. Which emotion though? Marcus’s eyes were often unreadable, clear as glass and often hard as diamond.

 _If Marcus is really Cain, he only had one brother… even_ I _know the story of Cain and Abel… and what happened to Abel._ _Okay, so… how do I go about asking my sort-of boyfriend-slash-boss if he’s actually the world’s first murderer… and what do I do about it if he_ is?

Dammit, she needs to talk to Lucifer before she makes any moves. If Pierce is Cain, then he’s definitely dangerous. _But is he dangerous like Lucifer is dangerous? Only to people that deserve punishment? Or is he dangerous, period?_

She feels a surge of gratitude that she hadn’t allowed him around Trixie yet, and checks the clock—Trixie’s at a birthday party and is due to be dropped off in an hour or so.

She abandons thoughts of Pierce—she can’t make any decisions without talking to Lucifer to see what else he knows about him—and turns to thoughts of the devil himself. Ella’s observations rattle around in her head as she considers her partner from every angle she can. It’s an incomplete picture, but… _I know_ _I’m right. Linda’s right. He’s_ not _evil. Immature. Narcissistic. Annoying. Unbelievably frustrating. Loyal. Protective. Brave, and funny… and kind._

It’s that last one that has always surprised her so much about Lucifer… from the beginning he’s been largely clueless about emotions, but he’s typically a good judge of character – _Well, I suppose he would have to be, wouldn’t he?—_ and to those he judges worthy, he’s almost unfailingly kind. She hadn’t expected that of someone so egocentric, but it’s a huge part of who he is, right up there with desire and punishment. Sometimes he’s just completely oblivious, and other times his attempts backfire in the worst ways, but his heart is nearly always in the right place. 

Kindness is not something that comes easily to Marcus—he’s always a little bit too rough, a little _too_ hard or brusque to pull it off. She’s seen him go through the motions a time or two, but it never seems to come from his heart. _Lucifer’s_ heart, on the other hand, seems to overflow with it, as though it’s been building up inside him for eons and only now has it been allowed to flow free, taking the form of a million tiny observances, like remembering the coffee orders and snack preferences of all his particular friends. Anonymously sponsoring a student from Haiti when his scholarship dried up. Putting so many of her fellow officers on the free drinks list at Lux that she’s _sure_ he had to raise drink prices just to accommodate them all.

Her heart leaps as a resounding knock on her door breaks into her thoughts. _Think of the devil, and he shall appear?_ She giggles and jumps to her feet. She races to the door and throws it open—

And finds her stocky, big-armed, flinty-eyed superior officer standing in her doorway in a t-shirt, leather jacket and jeans instead of her devilish partner in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit.

When the excitement she’d felt at the knock when she thought it was Lucifer drains away in the face of reality, she realizes what she needs to do. Marcus’ hands are tucked behind his back, and she calls on her acting skills to summon a shy smile for him.

“Hi,” she breathes in a reasonable facsimile of shyness. He smiles back at her, but it doesn’t warm his eyes. “What do you have?” she asks him playfully, “I should warn you that I hate surprises… I _always_ have to ferret out the truth when someone’s hiding something from me. Come on, let me see.”

His eyes narrow as he pulls a six-pack of beer from behind his back and presents it to her with a flourish. “To celebrate solving a murder!”

“Oooh, thank you.” She gasps dramatically, managing to fake a realistic laugh as she takes them from him and sets them on the kitchen bar.

“And this,” he presents a small, store-bought chocolate cake in his other hand. “I'm more of a key lime pie guy myself, but every proper bribe requires self-sacrifice.”

“Oh, this is Trixie’s favorite… but she’s on her way home from a birthday party right now.”

“Oh, birthday party. Maybe she's already had enough cake for the evening,” his tone is joking, but his eyes are intently focused on her, as though watching for something… or waiting to pounce.

“I’m sure she’s had _more_ than enough cake to keep her on a sugar high for at least a couple of days,” Chloe smiles, then sobers. “Listen, Marcus, this is _really_ sweet, and… I wanted to tell you that… I really like spending time with you, but… I still haven’t talked to Trixie about us. And… and I think I know what I want now, with us, but I need to make sure she’s on board before anything else happens.”

A hard light flares in his pale eyes and his lips twist briefly before he nods, stepping back a little and giving her space. “Of course, Chloe, we’ve got all the time in the world. Whatever you need.”

 _“Fast or slow. Whatever it takes.”_ Maze’s words from earlier parade in her mind and her suspicions solidify. Chloe steels herself and steps forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his round cheek, pulling back before he can try to turn it into a real one. “Trixie will be home in a few minutes. If she’s not too worn out, maybe I can talk to her tonight.”

“No, of course,” he bends to scoop up his motorcycle helmet and strides to the door. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Chloe. You did great work on this case. I know you weren’t keen on working with Lucifer this time, but maybe we won’t need to call him in for the next one.”

She hums noncommittally, and offers the six-pack back to him, “Why don’t you take these with you?”

“Nah, keep ‘em here,” he grins, but his eyes remain cold, untouched. “We can celebrate later, okay?”

She nods, and he turns to head down the stairs. She waits until she hears his bike flare to life and fade with distance before she disposes of the cake.

She starts preparing dinner, and is just sliding the shepherd’s pie into the oven when Trixie bursts through the door, most definitely on the highest of sugar highs. Chloe forces herself to set aside her celestial distractions and immerses herself in Trixie’s recitation of the party and the rest of her day. They’re just clearing the plates from the table when a frantic knocking at her door sends her heart leaping again, as Trixie races to answer it.

“Lucifer!” Trixie sounds thrilled to see him, and of course she would be—he hasn’t been around as much the past couple of months as Chloe and Marcus had started to get closer.

“Er,” the sound of a confused Lucifer drifts to her from the doorway, and she knows Trixie has him in her clutches. She’d been a little concerned that she might be wary of having him around her daughter now that she _believes him_ , but she’s pleased to find that’s not the case-- in fact, more the opposite. The unease she’d felt since Marcus appeared on her doorstep starts to melt away now that Lucifer’s here. She smirks as she hears him shuffling uncomfortably in the doorway. “Yes, child, hello. Is your mother all right?”

“Sure, we just had dinner, c’mon in!” They appear a moment later, Trixie dragging a still-bedraggled, objecting Lucifer by the hand. He’s gingerly holding in his hand what appears to be a figurine wrapped in his pocket square from yesterday, and he hasn’t even changed his suit.

“Hey,” she says gently and he merely looks at her, eyes wild with a mix of emotions she can’t even begin to name. “What’s going on? You look… rough.”

“I…” he trails off on an exhale, glancing down at the knickknack in his hand. A lock of his untamed curls flops down into his eyes as he continues, “Detective, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, taking in his fidgeting movements, the tension in his shoulders. “Have you eaten?”

“Have I… eaten?” he tilts his head, puzzled at her line of questioning.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Like, today. Or in the past week, even. I’m not kidding, Lucifer, you look like you’ve been run over by a truck as you were coming down from a bender.”

“That… is not an _entirely_ inaccurate description for my current emotional state, I’m afraid.”

“Well, let’s start with this,” Chloe grabs a plate and piles it with food while Trixie pushes him to a stool at the bar. He gingerly sets the figurine next to him, and she notices it looks familiar. “Is that… the missing figurine from the Winstead crime scene?”

“Apparently it isn’t, only a replica,” he glowers at the cherub as he slowly picks up his fork and starts to eat. At the first bite, he closes his eyes in bliss and chews slowly. Chloe feels a little swell of warmth in her chest at his enjoyment, even though it’s probably only because he hasn’t bothered to feed himself for… for who knows how long. “Detective, this is delectable. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she acknowledges, before continuing her observation of the cherub on her bartop. “Why did you bring this with you? It doesn’t seem… your style.”

“I assure you it is _not_ my style, but… you require proof if I’m to convince you of anything, Detective… I don’t know if this will suffice, but I’m afraid it’s all I have. My… what I have to tell you is not a pleasant tale, and I can only hope to convince you of its legitimacy.”

“I know you don’t lie, Lucifer,” she reminds him carefully, settling into a stool opposite the table from him, while Trixie climbs up into the one next to him.

“But neither do you always truly _believe_ what I say, Detective,” he points out, gesturing with his laden fork. “Urchin, I’m not entirely sure you should be present for this conversation, but I will of course defer to your mother’s judgement in the matter.”

“Is it about work stuff?” Trixie asks eagerly, and Lucifer considers for a moment as he chews.

“A bit, but mostly not,” he decides. “I’m afraid it may affect you somewhat, but I don’t know how much your mother will want me to share.”

“Do you have any homework, Trix?” Chloe raises an interrogational eyebrow.

“Maybe…” her daughter admits, “a little?”

The second eyebrow joins the first, and Trixie sighs in defeat, sliding off her stool and looking up at Lucifer. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye, okay? I _missed_ you!”

“I shall do my best, Spawn,” he shoots a furtive look at Chloe before focusing on the plate before him. Trixie nods and retreats to her bedroom to finish her schoolwork, and Chloe transfers the lifted eyebrow to her partner in an invitation to begin his tale.

“So?” she prompts when he continues to eat with single-minded purpose.

“You’re aware of my recent concerns regarding sleeping, and my father’s manipulation,” he begins slowly. “As it happens, while my wings _have_ returned _,_ I have _not_ been forced by my father into doing angelic deeds in my sleep.”

“That’s… good, right?” she asks tentatively. The set of his shoulders indicates there’s more to the story.

“You’ll recall what I said to you yesterday, about… about Pierce?” His voice is gentler now, and his body tenses a little as he brings it up as though fearful she’s going to pick up where she left off last night.

“Mmhm,” Chloe responds, watching him carefully.

“I… had something of a revelatory conversation with Mazikeen this evening, which is why I burst in on you in such a hurry. I… was worried for you.”

“For me?” Chloe’s eyebrows shoot up as Pierce’s cold eyes flash through her memory. “Why?”

“Because,” he swallows, then pushes his plate away, “I don’t know the entire plan, Detective, but Mazikeen has been gaslighting me with this ‘Angel of San Bernardino’ farce, knowing that my rabid distaste of being manipulated by my father would distract me from… from whatever Pierce—Cain—has been planning for _you._ ”

“Lucifer, tell me what you know,” a ball of ice settles in Chloe’s stomach. “Then, when you’re done with that, you can tell me what you _think_ you know.”

“All right,” he closes his eyes and visibly steels himself before beginning, “I know you and Pierce are... together… I assume since the Axara concert, but I suppose it could have been before that. I know he’s been looking for a way to… to _end_ his endless existence for thousands of years now, and I know that I’ve tried to help him find the loophole to allow him to do so, but I backed out of the deal when he… when you nearly got hurt during one of our plans. I think—I suspect that he… Oh, bollocks,” he murmurs to himself, and his eyes suddenly seem darker, as though the light of hope has left them. “This is going to require further explanation than I thought, and… I had hoped to couch this in terms that you might actually believe, Detective, but… we’re going to have venture into what you believe are my metaphors in order to move forward. I’ll try to simplify… As I’ve explained previously, you make me vulnerable. I can be injured, or die when I’m in your proximity. My belief is that Cain is under the impression that _your_ regard is what weakens me so, and that by winning your regard for himself, he may share my situation and be able to finally end his life.”

Chloe’s first reaction, which she manages to suppress, is to scoff and deny everything he’s just said. She rests her chin in her hand and regards him appraisingly for a long moment as she considers his allegations. She remembers Lucifer coming to her after her attempt to drunkenly seduce him, and his admission that she makes him vulnerable… _He meant it literally. That explains why he’s been shot, burned, and stabbed when he’s been with me, but when he got shot with Linda he wasn’t hurt at all._ “So… you think Pierce is trying to get me to, what, fall in love with him? So he can die?”

“I’m aware that you don’t believe it Detective, but it’s the _truth_ ,” his gaze meets hers steadily. “When I returned to Lux the day of Kevin Winstead’s murder, this little trinket was on my bedroom floor. An exact match for the Gabriel figurine that the witness was missing—which we now know the murderer took and destroyed after he’d accidentally touched it. That was the beginning of Mazikeen’s plan to start destabilizing me, by planting the idea that _I_ had been that angel.”

“Why would Maze want to destabilize you?”

“I told you, she wants me to take her home,” he sighs, frustrated. “I won’t risk your safety by going back to Hell again, and she’s angry. I don’t know their entire plan, but I’m nearly positive it entails me fleeing Earth with my tail between my legs and taking her with me.”

“Do… do you _have_ a tail?” she blurts, sidetracked as her mind whirls. _Maze wants to go home. Home is Hell. Lucifer doesn’t want to go back to Hell._

“Detective, _focus please!_ ” He huffs, offended. “Of course I don’t have a bloody tail. But Mazikeen has even gone so far as to save a family from a burning home in San Bernardino while wearing wings to further my paranoia at being manipulated by Dad, she told me as much before I came here to make sure you were safe. She’s been working with Pierce against me all this time.”

A small thump and a gasp comes from the direction of Trixie’s sliding door, and Lucifer sighs, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “Spawn, I haven’t divulged your eavesdropping habit to your mother previously because I feel that if you’re clever enough to find things out without detection, then you deserve to learn what you desire… but if you’re going to give yourself away so easily I am reconsidering my assessment of your cleverness.”

“Trixie!” Chloe calls sharply, and a moment later the door slides open, revealing her chagrined 9-year-old daughter. “What do you have to say for yourself? How long have you been listening?”

“I… heard Maze’s name,” the girl admits.

“So, from the beginning, then,” Chloe glances at Lucifer, who nods sagely. “You knew she was listening?”

“She does that nearly every time you send her to her room so we can speak, Detective, unless she gets bored or distracted… Your spawn is really quite intelligent. I’m quite willing to bet that _she_ knows I’ve been telling the truth this entire time.”

Chloe’s wide eyes find her daughter, who grins mischievously. “Do you _really_ not know that Lucifer’s the devil, and Maze is a demon, Mommy?”

“And what makes you so sure they are?” she asks warily.

“Lucifer doesn’t lie,” Trixie points out ruthlessly, and Lucifer gestures smugly in a ‘There, you see?’ flourish, “and Maze wore her other face for Halloween last year—it was _so cool_!”

“Did she really?” Lucifer asked interestedly, at the same Chloe gasps a horrified,

“What other face??” she throws a questioning gaze at Lucifer, who’s looking at her strangely.

“Mazikeen’s demon face… well, it looks nothing like my devil face, but… I suppose it’s a similar concept. While _this_ ,” he gestures pompously to his visage as Chloe rolls her eyes, “is my original face and my devil face appeared after I’d been cast into Hell, Maze’s demon face _is_ her real appearance. The face she wears here on Earth is a… bit of a cloak.”

“Maze doesn’t have glowy eyes like you though, Lucifer,” Trixie pipes up, and he smiles down at the girl.

“No child, she does not. That’s reserved solely for the devil himself.”

 _A flash of red fire reflected in stainless steel, her own strained voice, “Who are you?_ What _are you? Did you do this?”_

_“I’ve been trying to tell you, I’m the Devil.”_

_“That’s… that’s not possible.”_

_“I assure you, Detective, it_ is.”

“How does Trixie know your eyes glow, Lucifer?”

“He used them to scare off my bully!” Trixie provides helpfully.

Chloe closes her eyes and counts to ten. _From day one. My baby knew from day ONE and made the devil with the glowy eyes one of her best friends because he’s funny and defended her from a bully._

“Detective?” Lucifer’s voice is hesitant, and Trixie seems to realize that her mother is upset. She steps forward and grabs Lucifer’s hand. “Do you… do you want me to leave?”

 _“No.”_ The denial is vehement, immediate, and takes them both completely by surprise. They stare at each other, wide-eyed for a moment, with Trixie’s gaze bouncing between the two of them. “Trixie, you are going to take a very long bubble bath, and you’re going to watch a movie, very _loudly_ , with your tablet propped up on the towel rack while Lucifer and I have a conversation without little ears eavesdropping. And _we_ ,” she glares at her daughter, “are having a long conversation about exactly why eavesdropping is wrong, _very soon._ ”

“Oookay,” her daughter groans, and Lucifer finally succeeds in shaking his hand free of hers. “Is… is Maze okay? It… sounded like she’s been doing some bad things.”

“Mazikeen is having a very hard time adjusting to human emotions, offspring,” Lucifer supplies gently when Chloe’s mouth only hangs open, unsure what to say. “When demons are uncomfortable, they lash out at whatever’s closest… and unfortunately, that puts all of us a bit at ground zero.”

“Will she get better?”

“I’m afraid that’s up to her, Urchin,” he murmurs softly, and Trixie nods sadly. “I certainly hope so.”

“Me, too.”

“Trixie, bath.” Chloe finally manages words, and shuttles her daughter up the stairs and waits until she can hear _Tangled_ starting before turning back to Lucifer and taking a fortifying breath. “I _do_ believe you.”

“You do?” his eyebrows lift and a small smile appears on his lips. “You believe me that Maze and Pierce are plotting together?”

“Well, yeah, I do, but that’s not what I meant.”

“You believe me that Pierce is immortal?” his voice sounds skeptical now, his eyebrows crinkling in thought, as though trying to decipher her.

“Okay, yes, I’m… I’m getting there too,” she approaches him carefully, sitting close beside him and reaches across him to grab his right hand, holding it between hers. She notices that the damage from the handcuff overnight has already healed, the skin of his wrist smooth and unblemished. She traces her fingertips along the invisible line where the wound had been, and his expression says that he’s worried for her sanity. She takes a deep breath and gazes into his concerned brown eyes as she continues, “I… I believe that you _are_ Lucifer, the… the fallen angel. The devil.”

For a moment the light of hope flares in his eyes again before his gaze drops to her hands cupping his, takes in her body leaning toward him. His expression clouds and he pulls away stiffly, growling, “Really, Detective, _now_ is not the time to pretend… to _humor me!_ The situation in which we find ourselves has far too much potential to turn deadly, and I won’t have you— _”_

 _“Lucifer! I saw you!”_ she hisses furiously, and he lapses into stunned silence. “Okay? I _saw you_ show your wings to Charlotte last week.” His face pales by several shades, and his hand suddenly feels cool in hers. She gazes into his eyes, watching as the warm brown is slowly swallowed by the deep, shining black of his expanding pupils and his breathing speeds until he’s nearly panting. “Lucifer? Hey. Lucifer. Are you okay?”

“You—” he breathes soundlessly. “You—?"

After a few more moments of non-response from her partner, Chloe pulls out her phone with a sigh and dials.

“Linda?” she says when the therapist picks up, “Hey, sorry I’m calling so—no, I’m fine, but… I may have broken Lucifer?”


	4. I Can Say ‘I Love You’

“We were having a discussion about our current situation, and I… I told him that I know, that I saw him show Charlotte his wings, and…” Chloe pulls in a deep breath, wedging the phone securely between her ear and her shoulder. “And now he just seems catatonic? I wouldn’t have called, but he’s been this way for several minutes now, and I don’t know what to do.” She’s still holding onto his unresponsive hand tightly, and his eyes seem to be locked on it.

“Okay… what situation?”

“We’re… dealing with something with Maze and Pierce plotting together, and I was trying to… to kind of prod him into _showing_ me, but he was getting more and more frustrated because he thought I was just humoring him, so I told him that I know, that I saw his wings. He just froze, Linda.”

“What is he doing now?”

“He’s sitting on one of my barstools. He tried to speak, or at least he seemed like he was going to say something, but didn’t. And since then he’s been staring at our hands.”

“At your hands?”

“Yeah, his are really cold, Linda.”

“Hmm. Pupils dilated?”

“Like saucers.”

“Okay Chloe… I… I think he’s probably utterly terrified.” Linda confides quietly. “Proving his identity to you has been a _huge_ concern of his since I’ve known him, and having you confront him with the fact that you do believe him now might send him into a bit of a tailspin. You _can’t_ lie to him right now, Chloe, nothing less than absolutely pure honesty will do. It’s going to be incredibly difficult to convince him that you _aren’t_ terrified or disgusted – oh wait—are you?”

“Of course not!” Chloe grips his hand more tightly in hers, her other hand trying to massage some warmth back into it.

“Okay. I didn’t think you seemed that way when we spoke before, but…” she clears her throat. “In his mind, he is utterly unlovable. If you can be _truthful_ , you need to tell him that you’re not afraid, that you’re not going to run, that you want him there with you. Try to focus on what you _do_ want. You can’t say anything you don’t mean, though Chloe—he’ll never believe anything like that if he senses any kind of falsehood from you now.”

Chloe nods, feeling her resolve rising in her chest at the challenge before her. “Okay. Be honest, and reassure. Not a problem. Thanks Linda, can I call back if I need you?”

“Of course, and text me when he comes out of it, once he settles a little.”

“Got it. Thanks Linda!”

“Good luck!”

Chloe puts the phone away and slides off her stool, stepping closer to Lucifer carefully.

“Hey,” she nudges him with her elbow against his, and his gaze slowly slips from their hands to where her side presses close against his. “Come on, let’s go sit on the couch, okay? I’m a little afraid you might fall off the stool. Can you stand?” She places a hand under his elbow and lifts tentatively, finding that even in his current state he’s willing to let himself be directed by her. He drifts to his feet and she guides him slowly over to the couch, settling him into a seat. She feels a little tendril of warmth at the level of trust afforded to her by the man—being—before her, then feels a subsequent thrill of fear that she may not be able to prove herself worthy of it. She settles down beside him, her side pressed flush to his and still holding tightly to his hand. And she starts to speak. “Okay. So, Linda says you’re probably pretty scared right now, that you’ve been kind of worried about how I would handle learning… well. I guess not _really_ learning, because it’s not like you haven’t been telling me who you are the entire time I’ve known you, yeah? Repeatedly. So… I guess, you might be afraid that I’m going to… to just what, abandon you? Now that I believe you?” She huffs a small, nervous laugh. “Not a chance, partner. I’ll admit I was a little freaked out at first, but… I’ve had some time to think about it now. I have, like, a billion questions for you, when we get some time. The first things you need to know right now are that _I’m not afraid of you,_ and I’m certainly not _going anywhere._ ”

She watches him closely for any reaction, and she’s rewarded by a quick snap of his eyes up from their joined hands to meet hers intently. She sees the fear in them, the disbelief of her statement as he looks for the lie.

“You’re,” his face finally animates a little, and this time the word comes out as a rasp, but she’ll take the improvement. “you’re _not_ afraid of me?”

“How could I be?” she shakes her head, fighting to hold back tears at the sheer incredulity in his roughened voice. “You’re my partner, Lucifer, I _know_ who you are. Wings or no wings.”

“The wings,” he murmurs, his gaze falling, shoulders slumping. “Of course, it’s the bloody wings.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve told you, Detective,” he sighs heavily, “The wings are… divine. They inspire awe, reverence, often even obsession in humanity. They are _not_ an accurate reflection of who I am.”

“Lucifer,” she shakes her head, trying to find the words she needs to get her through this conversation before Trixie emerges from her bath. “The wings didn’t inspire any of that in me. I mean, they’re gorgeous and all, but… you’re still _you_ , and I’m still me. And we get along pretty well together, don’t we?”

“Do we?” he asks doubtfully. _“Will we?_ Now that you believe?”

“I went to Lux that night to talk to you, I… I didn’t like how… I didn’t like the distance that we’d put between us, and I wanted to talk it out, but… I saw you. I saw you _help_ her.” She squeezes his hand, slipping her fingers in between his and he looks at their hands in blatant shock. “You’re a good person, Lucifer. I could see and hear how anxious you were about revealing yourself, and you did it anyway… to help someone who was drowning.”

“Well, apparently now we know where the Urchin gets her eavesdropping talents from, hm?” He lifts an eyebrow at her, and she has the grace to blush.

“I really didn’t—”

“It’s… it’s all right, Detective,” he cuts her off gently. “I suppose, as celestial introductions go, it could have been far worse. I will simply have to keep reminding you that wings do not a devil make. Don’t let them deceive you darling, I am no angel… it’s why I didn’t want to show them to you in the first place. If I’d been able to show you my face… well. Your reaction would have been more appropriate.”

“Appropriate how?”

“You would have run,” he intones with absolute certainty. “You would have run without stopping to think, and you certainly wouldn’t be sitting next to me now, holding my hand and telling me I’m _good_.”

“I don’t understand,” she tilts her head, puzzled. “Do… you _want_ me to run?”

“It would probably be the safest thing for you, Detective,” he replies quietly, “I am poison. I tried running before, to save you from me, but… but I wasn’t strong enough to stay away. Perhaps if you did, or,” he perks up a little, “perhaps if you order me away, then I could—"

“Don’t. Even. Think about it.” Her tone is hard and he startles at the vehemence behind it, glancing back up to meet her gaze. “I talked with Ella a little bit about the _last time_ you ran—and we’ll definitely be talking more about it once we’re past this. You’re my partner, Lucifer, and my _best friend_. I want you _here._ ” She watches the expressions cycling through puzzlement, disbelief, hope, and finally resignation. From upstairs, she can hear Flynn starting to freak out about Rapunzel’s glowing, healing hair. “Trixie’s movie is half over, should we come back to this discussion, and handle the Pierce-Maze issue now?”

“Yes, all right,” he acquiesces, “prioritization. We were discussing Mazikeen’s plotting to distract me from Pierce’s intentions with you.”

She casts her glance around, trying to remember the point in the conversation before Trixie, and it lands on the angel figurine on her bar.

“Okay. So… the Gabriel figure wound up in your bedroom as part of Maze’s plan to spin you out. How would Maze know about the figure?” Chloe asks reasonably.

“Simple—Pierce knew about it, and must have told her,” he holds his hands out, palms up. “You and I have been distant lately, we’ve barely spoken outside of work, and you haven’t called me in for as many cases as usual. Tell me, did Pierce encourage you to call me in for this case?”

“He… he did, yeah.” Chloe’s mind is spinning. “Why would Pierce need to send you into a meltdown?”

“Well that seems obvious to me—he mistakenly thinks you harbor some sort of affection for me, so the best way to win it for himself is to remove me from the picture.” Lucifer’s mask is firmly in place now, trying to hide the hurt in his eyes, and his tone is gentle but clinical, very similar to what he’d used when he was showing Charlotte his wings. “He tried kidnapping me in the beginning, but I made it back to you much sooner than he anticipated. With this plan, if _I_ didn’t remove myself with distraction, _you_ would remove me because I would be acting erratically and you simply wouldn’t tolerate it. You’d kick me off the case, or perhaps even dissolve our partnership.” He sighs dejectedly, “Which is essentially what happened.”

“Pierce was—” Chloe realizes she’s nearly shouting and dials her volume down, “ _Pierce_ was behind your kidnapping? How long have you known that?”

“Ah, let’s see… he told me months ago, just after he shot his patsy… when I stabbed him to prove he was Cain.”

“You…what!? _Lucifer!_ What if you’d been wrong!”

“I _wasn’t!_ ” he protests, then for full disclosure, continues, “Though I did have a fleeting moment of doubt when it took him longer to resurrect than I thought it would. But he eventually popped back up like the noxious weed he is, bled all over my bar and we had a lovely conversation about immortality, my kidnapping, and him being the Sinnerman, then—”

“Okay, whoa, stop,” Chloe’s jaw sags as Lucifer turns to face her curiously. She reluctantly releases his hand and gets up to start pacing, unable to stay still with her current level of agitation. “Pierce is the Sinnerman. _Pierce?_ He _shot_ the Sinnerman, when he was attacking _you!”_

“The man he shot was his underling. Cain basically raised him from childhood to be his right-hand man. He claimed he went rogue, but… I don’t know how true that was.” Lucifer shakes his head distastefully, and Chloe reels. “And for the record, I was in no danger from Helen Killer. The man was literally begging me to kill him when you two showed up and Cain pumped him full of lead.”

_Trixie. Was he eyeing Trixie to be his next right-hand? No. No, Lucifer said he wants to die. I’m his reason for being here, not my Monkey._

“Lucifer, why didn’t you tell me?” Chloe turns to him, suddenly furious. “Why would you _let_ me… get involved with him if you knew what he was?”

 _“Let_ you?” Lucifer’s brow furrows. “Detective, your decisions are entirely your own—one of the stipulations of free will. As to why I didn’t tell you… you… made it very clear that you were not willing to hear any accusations from me on any level without proof, _especially_ regarding the Sinnerman. And I have none, only what he admitted to me in private.”

 _“How could you do that to me?”_ she snaps, and he surges to his own feet, looming tall, and yet she feels no warning tingle, no flash of anxiety the way she had when Pierce had shown less than half this level of agitation. _I’m not afraid of him. Even when he’s angry._

“You seemed… you said you were _happy_ , Detective,” he gesticulates passionately, his voice plenty loud enough to be heard over the roaring of the blood furiously rushing in her ears. “I gave you back your choice, and… and you chose him. Who am I to argue?”

“Who are you?” she parrots incredulously, turning to keep facing has as _he_ starts to pace as well now. “Lucifer, you’re my… my _friend_ , my _partner!_ You were just going to let me… bring him into my life? He’s dangerous, he’s a _murderer!_ A criminal! I almost introduced him to Trixie!” He flinches, a flash of anguish crossing his face, and it brings her up short. “What?”

“All of those things could be said of me as well,” He straightens his shoulders, pulls his mask firmly back in place with the air of someone facing his executioner. “ _I_ am dangerous, some would consider me a criminal. And I too have killed. You’ve inspired me to try to become a better version of myself. Who’s to say you couldn’t have done the same for Cain?”

Chloe gapes at him for a moment, but even with his grim admission, she still doesn’t feel the chill with him that she felt with Pierce.

“You’re nothing like him, Lucifer,” the words slip out before she’s even aware of them, but she doesn’t even try to deny the truth of them. She sinks back down onto the couch and reaches out to take his unresisting hand. “You’re not.” She tugs him closer, urges him to sit down again and after a moment, he complies. “We can discuss this later, but I _know_ you don’t just go around killing people that get in your way. We need to focus on _this_ situation for now, so stop trying to distract me!” her tone becomes scolding, and she stops and takes a deep breath, holding for a few seconds before repeating the process. “So Pierce is the first murderer, immortal, and a criminal kingpin with a penchant for manipulation, long-term planning, and an agenda to die. What… how do we even begin to address this? What will he do when I break it off with him?”

“Well,” he’s silent for a moment as he considers, “If you break it off with him, he’ll probably assume I am the cause.”

“How does that make sense?” She narrows her eyes, trying to follow that logic. “And it’s not an _‘if’_ , Lucifer, it’s a _‘when’_.”

“Remember, he thinks my vulnerability stems from this imagined regard that he thinks you hold for me,” Lucifer points out mildly. His face lights as an idea occurs to him. “If he thinks—however mistakenly—that I’m standing in the way of his gaining your love, he’d most definitely take further action to remove me from the equation, Detective. Perhaps that would give us an opportunity to—”

“No way,” she cuts off that thought before he can go too far with it. “You’re still vulnerable around me, which means he can hurt you, or even kill you. That’s not a viable plan, it’s too reckless.”

“Bloody vulnerability,” Lucifer mutters under his breath, and Chloe huffs a laugh. “Though, I suppose if he’s working with Maze, he’ll have access to her Hell-forged blades, which could kill me even when you’re not nearby, so there’s that.”

“You think Maze would go along with that?” Chloe’s lip curls in distaste at the idea that their friend could be so far off the rails.

“Thus far she’s betrayed with my own brother—who was trying to get me killed, considered betraying me with my mother before she lost her nerve, and now with Cain,” he sighs, resigned. “I think it’s safe to say she’ll go as far as she feels she needs to go to get what she thinks she wants.”

“All right… okay, we’ll… we’ll come back to that, then. What about this—he thinks me loving him will, what, break his curse, right?” Lucifer nods cautiously. “The easy solution would be to just tell him that I… that I do. We’re already sort-of together. He came by this evening and I didn’t give him any reason to think I was onto who he really is. If I tell him that I—if I tell him that, and his curse doesn’t break, he’ll just move on, right?”

“Detective, I am not one to question your excellent acting skills, but… are you certain that you can handle that level of subterfuge?” He looks askance at her. “You would have to be incredibly convincing, and… that kind of deceit isn’t something I would have thought you would participate in willingly, especially for someone close to you.”

“Lucifer,” she pauses, catching wind of something dark wriggling below the obvious question he’s asking. “If we’re right—and I think we are, based on what I’ve observed and what you’ve told me—Marcus purposely wormed his way into my life to make me fall in love with him… so he can _die._ He’s been manipulating me into… into caring for him, all so I could have my heart shattered when he dies? You’re the expert on being manipulated by people you care about Lucifer, you tell _me_ if I can manage it?”

His eyes are intently focused on her, and she wonders what he’s thinking about. Her wondering is resolved when he finally replies, “You know, after all the times you gave _me_ blue balls back when we first met… yes, I think you’ll be just fine.”

She can’t help it, she bursts into giggles and his pleased little grin only sets her off again. She leans her head against his shoulder once she reigns in her laughter, and he stiffens under her.

“What’s wrong?” she pulls back, looking up into his face.

“Nothing,” he nearly squeaks, followed by clearing his throat. He shifts away from her and slips his hand into his jacket, withdrawing his flask and taking a pull from it. “You do realize that you’ll need to _actually_ say the words, though, Detective? You won’t be able to avoid them the way you’ve been doing.”

“I can say ‘I love you’, Lucifer,” she meets his eyes as she does, and he glances away quickly, taking another pull from his flask.

“Yes, er, I think you’ll do quite well, Detective, I’m sure of it, but… I’m worried about you being alone with him. If he sees through the ruse… I don’t know how he’d react, and he is quite brutally strong.”

“Hm.” Chloe flushes as she considers the bruises she’d noticed after… and it seemed like he’d been _trying_ to be gentle… at least a little. “Is he stronger than you?”

He scoffs at the idea. “Of course not, he’s still _human_. He couldn’t even beat Amenadiel in a fight, and he’s been diminished to nearly that.”

_Amenadiel diminished? Right, we’ll circle back to that._

“Okay so… what do you say to being my backup? I told him today that I wasn’t comfortable moving forward with him until I talked to Trix about, um, him. What if I invite him here tomorrow to talk, and… you tuck yourself away in her room?”

“Couldn’t I hide in _your_ room, Detective?” Lucifer glances distastefully into Trixie’s room, which admittedly is a bit on the messy side. His face twists suddenly, “Unless you plan to entertain him there, of course.”

“Lucifer…” she shakes her head, exasperated. “If you don’t want to be in Trixie’s room, the guest room is fine, I just wanted to make sure you’d be able to hear, and intervene if necessary…”

“Detective, I can hear your neighbor’s dinner discussion from here,” he reveals blandly. “Listening to you and that man-ham from a flight of stairs away is less than child’s play, I assure you. And I am _very_ fast.”

“How… how good _are_ your senses?” she asks hesitantly. It seems kind of a rude question to ask, but it could be relevant. “I mean, you could smell _Ella_ on my guest sheets… If your hearing is that good, how are you not deafened at Lux?”

“It’s rather difficult to describe without comparisons,” he admits candidly, “all I know is, they’re far stronger than human senses. My memory is near-perfect when I’m not actively filtering things out, and of course permanent. Identifying a scent of someone I’m familiar with is quite simple. Especially with as often as Miss Lopez winds up in my personal space…” Chloe stifles a smile at his show of grumbling about Ella’s hugs. “I can see clearly for quite a distance, and darkness and shadows hide no secrets from me. But for now, I suppose what matters is that I can hear that your offspring’s movie has ended, and she’s draining the water from the bathtub, so we’ll have company in just a very few minutes.”

“Okay, can we put this on hold until I get her into bed? We can flesh out the plan after—” she trails off as Lucifer valiantly tries (and fails) to stifle an enormous yawn. She notices again the bags under his eyes, and his state of dishevelment. “Maybe we can put it off for a day or so until you can get some more rest. Now that you don’t have to worry about… sleep-flying. Wouldn’t want to risk you accidentally nodding off during my conversation with Pierce.” It should feel strange, how quickly he's gone from 'Marcus' in her mind back to 'Pierce'. But it doesn't.

“No, no, I’m fine,” he protests, barely succeeding in smothering another yawn hard on the heels of the first. “I’ll wait here while you settle the Urchin, and we can continue our planning session.”

Trixie traipses down the stairs in her unicorn pajamas then, skin pink from the heat of her bath and toweling her hair dry.

“Lucifer, you stayed! Are you going have a sleepover with us?”

“Er,” he begins, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but Chloe cuts him off.

“Lucifer _is_ really tired, Monkey. Is it okay with you if he uses Maze’s old room tonight?” He tilts his head at her in a silent inquiry as Trixie cheers, and she murmurs, “Please?”

“Very well, Detective,” he sighs, “but this poor suit is now going on day 3, and I’m going to need a bloody shower.”

“Are you, uh, wearing anything underneath?” Chloe asks him quietly after sending Trixie to go choose her story for the evening. “That you can sleep in, aside from your suit, I mean.”

“Detective, are you asking if I’m wearing pants?” he laughs delightedly, and she narrows her eyes suspiciously at him. His grin lingers despite her glare, and he continues cheerfully, “As rarely as it happens, I am. Though I truly am capable of driving home, Detective, my reflexes—”

“Sleep deprivation is used as torture for people for a reason, Lucifer,” she points out, and he nods sagely.

“Oh, I know.” She blinks as she realizes that he not only knows, but that it’s entirely possible he has a _list_ somewhere of people suffering that exact torture in Hell, right now. She gets up and moves toward Trixie’s room.

“And… I don’t want to seem needy but, with all this new information, I just feel _safer_ when you’re nearby right now, okay?” She looks back at him as she reaches the sliding door and he’s staring at her, dumbfounded. “What?”

“I… you feel _safer_ with me?” he breathes. “Are you _certain_ you haven’t suffered a head injury at some point in your life?”

“Of course I feel safe with you, Lucifer.” His gaze softens, and his breath catches a little at her reassurance. “Go take your shower, and if you’re not too tired after, we can plan some more, if not… we’ll work on it tomorrow.”

He mutters something under his breath about a ‘bloody miracle’ as she steps into Trixie’s room for their nightly ritual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should be able to come up with some plot tags by now but... nope. I've got nothing.


	5. Are You Guys Dating Now?

Chloe is definitely _not_ lingering in the hallway when Lucifer opens the door to release the billowing steam after his _very_ long shower, vigorously toweling his hair with a satisfied sigh.

“Uh, Lucifer?” she stands uncertainly with a small stack of clothes in her hands, offering them to him. He pulls the towel away from his hair, holding it in front of his bare chest as he gives her his attention. “I’ve, uh, been keeping these in the cruiser for you in case you ever… lost your clothes again. I didn’t know if you’d want to sleep in them? I didn’t know your exact size, but I guessed as closely as I could.”

“Detective! How thoughtful of you,” he grins. “I learned my lesson when I gave that homeless man my outfit and you made me walk home starkers… though I did have some memorable encounters that resulted from that experience…”

“Ew,” she laughs, but holds out the clothing for him.

“You would be more comfortable if I wore this, I’m sure,” he accepts them slowly, smiling as he rubs the soft fabric between his fingertips. She’d taken care to choose the nicest materials she could afford that would still be stretchy enough to offer some wiggle room in the sizing. He closes the door and she hears him shuffling about for a moment, followed by a deep belly laugh and she can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. He opens the door again and stands there, dressed in his stylish new ensemble of soft black sweat pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt screen-printed to look like a white button-down shirt—complete with a printed-on tie and dark grey waistcoat. The pants fit fine, but the shirt is a bit snug, showing his broad shoulders and muscular chest and arms quite well. The effect is actually quite nice. It’s definitely _not_ his typical style, but it gives the appearance, if you don’t look too closely. He looks surprisingly comfortable in it.

“I shall snooze in style this evening, Detective, thank you.” His grin is so wide that she starts laughing, and his eyes sparkle with mirth. “Though even I think a tie is a bit pretentious for sleepwear.”

“You’ve got to admit, it’s much better than the green one you had to wear after the Sol de Javier incident.” She teases, and he wrinkles his nose at the memory.

“Yes, that particular fashion crime went straight into my cleaning rag supply,” he sighs. He gives his hair a few more swipes with the towel before asking, “Where should I deposit this, Detective?”

She directs him down the hall to the laundry room and goes to change into her own pajamas. She emerges in her own sweats and t-shirt combo and notices the lights are all off downstairs and a dim sliver of light shines from the partially open door to the guest room. He calls out to her as she passes his door to do her nightly perimeter check.

“Oh, I’ve already checked all the windows and both doors, Detective, but I know how thorough you are,” he grins at her from his pillow, eyes already half-closed. “The latch on the south window of the Urchin’s room will need to be replaced soon, and I also noted your security light is out on the west side of your patio. I’ve ordered you a replacement bulb, and it should be here tomorrow. Sleep well, darling.”

A warmth floods her chest at this demonstration of his concern for her. The man doesn’t even lock his own doors, but had taken the time and effort—despite his exhaustion—to not only check her doors and windows, but also to note seemingly insignificant details like a worn out latch and a blown security bulb and had taken immediate steps to rectify it.

“Good night, Lucifer.”

********************

The next morning dawns hectic, involving Trixie losing one of her shoes and Chloe burning breakfast as she tries to help find it before Trixie misses her bus. Trixie finally bolts out the door just in time—with both shoes on her feet and a Pop-Tart in her mouth as Chloe breathes a sigh of relief.

Lucifer had apparently slept blissfully through it all. Or, well, that’s not precisely true. When the turmoil started, she spied him blearily standing at the top of the stairs, hair a completely untamed nest of curls, staring down with trepidation at the chaos brewing below. She’d called up to him that they were fine and he was welcome to sleep a little while longer, and he had bobbed his head once and turned to shuffle back to his room.

She climbs the stairs to get ready for work and finds his door wide open, his long form curled into a loose comma on his right side and chuffing deep, even breaths. The shadows under his eyes are better this morning than yesterday, but she still lets him sleep. She texts him, telling him to stay as long as he needs to, and they can talk later—maybe at lunch if he’s awake by then.

She takes a deep breath before exiting the cruiser once she reaches the precinct, preparing to play her role. _Okay. I’m in love. I’ve decided to move forward in a relationship that is stable and… and… boring. I’ve put all thoughts of a relationship with Lucifer behind me and I’m eager to have a future with Pierce. Marcus. I would be a little shy, awkward. I can do this._

Pierce catches her eye from her desk and she smiles at him shyly, looking up from under her eyelashes as he approaches.

“Hey Decker, how’s the paperwork from the Winstead case coming along?”

“Slowly,” she wrinkles her nose in a grimace, and he smiles at her, leaning close over her shoulder to look over it. She notes again the contrast between the warm feeling she gets when Lucifer does the same thing versus the cold chill she experiences with Pierce. How had she never noticed that _before?_ “Since the family’s got some clout, I’m just being extra thorough, making sure absolutely everything is tied up.”

“Don’t be modest, Chloe, you do that with _every_ case and still manage to outshine all the other detectives on my unit.” His shoulder brushes hers and she forces herself to lean into it a little rather than freeze or pull away. “Did Trixie enjoy her cake?”

“Not yet,” Chloe scoffs – nor would she, Chloe had thrown it away. “She was so hyped up on sugar last night that I figured I’d wait ‘til tonight to let her have any. I’m hoping to talk with her about _us_ tonight… so we can maybe move forward together. As a… as a family.”

“I’d like that, Chloe,” He turns his head to look at her more closely and she feels a flush creeping up her neck at the scrutiny, but he only smiles a little wider, and to Chloe it has an edge of self-satisfaction.

“You two are _so cute,”_ Ella coos as she approaches the desk, and Pierce straightens abruptly, clearing his throat.

“Nice work on the case, Decker. Submit it to me when you’re done.”

He strides stiffly back to his office, and Ella turns her heart-eyes to Chloe with a wide grin. Chloe coughs, fighting her blush. “What’s up, Ella?”

“Nothin’,” she chirps cheerfully, “I just thought you might appreciate the interruption before you two started making out on the homicide floor.”

Chloe snorts, then an idea occurs to her. “Hey… do you have a minute? I have a couple more “presearch” questions for you… and maybe a favor to ask.”

“A favor?” Ella laughs, “Taking a note from Lucifer’s book now? Yeah, I’ve got some results pending, but we can chat while I’m waiting, c’mon into the lab.”

Once the door to Ella’s lab is closed behind them, Chloe closes the blinds as Ella looks on, intrigued. “Oookay, privacy required. Got it. What’s up, Decker?”

“Would it be possible to run prints without alerting the system that a match has been identified?”

“Hm.” Ella thinks for a minute. “There’s not a way to do a match search without running it through the system, which automatically logs the search and any matches made. Why?”

“Damn,” Chloe mutters under her breath. She doesn’t know if fingerprinting the figurine would do any good— what could they possibly charge Pierce for anyway, even if they did find a match? “Nothing, just… a theory I was spinning in my head. Well, that’s a bust, but thanks for the info, Ella.” She turns to go, then spins back abruptly, causing Ella’s eyebrows to shoot up. “Actually… if you have time… what can you tell me about Cain?” She practically whispers the name, eyes darting to the Lieutenant’s office.

“Cain?” Ella repeats slowly, tilting her head. “As in, Adam and Eve’s son? Abel’s brother?”

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“Well, what I remember is that he was a farmer. He worked the soil and his brother tended the beasts. One day, God came down and basically invited the two of them to a contest to see who could please him better. Abel offered tender cooked meats, and Cain offered freshly baked breads. God liked the meat better, and blessed Abel and his herds. Cain got super jealous and he and Abel fought, which resulted in Cain killing his brother with a rock.”

_He killed his brother with a rock?_ Chloe’s memory flashes to Cain’s home, and his choice in décor.

_“I collect rocks,”_ he’d said proudly. _Oh my God, are they trophies? Does each one of those rocks tie to someone he’s killed?_ She considers just how _many_ of them he has… _talk about baggage._

She snaps her attention back to Ella, who is blithely continuing her narrative, “God apparently came down again later and asked Cain where his brother was. Cain denied knowing where his brother was, and God punished him. The Bible says his fields were cursed and he could no longer grow anything, and that Cain was cursed for life as a fugitive and wanderer.”

“So, he not only killed his brother out of jealousy and pride, but lied about it to _God_.” Chloe muses. _Why on Earth would you just let someone like that wander free… for eternity?_

“Yep, doesn’t seem like the smartest idea, ya know?” Ella shrugs. “But enough about Cain… I’m gonna need you to dish about how it’s going with Pierce!”

Chloe nearly chokes, but manages to pass it off as a simple cough, trying to pretend she’s masking modesty. She’s torn, thinking that Ella could really be some help with this plan, but she also knows that without Ella really _knowing_ what she’s dealing with, a lot of time would be wasted trying to convince her of what needs to be done. What else can they… _Oh! Charlotte! Charlotte knows now, and she’s a fierce attorney. Maybe we can bring her in on the planning_. A little of the weight lifts off her shoulders at the prospect of a new point of view… a new _human, legal-oriented_ point of view. She glances at the lab clock and notices it’s nearly lunchtime, and she still hasn’t heard from Lucifer.

“Chloe?” Ella’s concerned voice breaks through her reverie, and she realizes she’s been inside her own mind a little too long. “Hey, you okay? Things looked pretty cozy between you two out there, was I wrong? ‘Cause now you look… a little freaked out. You don’t have to share deets if you don’t—”

“No, no, it’s… it’s fine, Ella, it’s just… there’s nothing to share.” Ella’s disbelieving eyebrow lift tells Chloe that she knows otherwise.

“So my having to order new sample vials because my old ones shattered after getting knocked off the shelf over there a couple days ago has _nothing whatsoever_ to do with you and Pierce disappearing into the evidence closet that shares that wall and coming out a bit later looking all sexified?”

“Oh my God,” Chloe gasps, mortified, “Was it really that obvious? Do you think Lucifer noticed?”

A slow smile creeps across Ella’s face. “Do we have a love triangle starting up here, Decker?”

_“No,”_ Chloe replies firmly, “not even close, Ella. You know how Lucifer is, though, he’s relentless. If he knew Pierce and I had… he’d never rest until he got all the details, and… just no. No triangles.”

“Okaaayyy….” Ella hums, unconvinced, but reluctantly lets the subject drop. “Where _is_ Lucifer, anyway? I’m a little worried about him.”

“I _hope_ he’s sleeping,” Chloe mutters. At Ella’s puzzled glance, she elaborates, “he told me last week he hasn’t been sleeping well. He was beyond exhausted and I still practically had to _force_ him home to sleep the other day.”

“Hmm, maybe he needs a melatonin boost,” Ella muses, “I think I’ve got some around here… I’ll look for it.” One of her machines makes a sound, and she alerts on it like a bird dog on a covey of quail.

“I’ll leave you to it, Ella,” Chloe chuckles as her friend enters her zone, putting in her earbuds and moving to the music. “I should finish my paperwork, anyway.”

When she still hasn’t heard from Lucifer by 2 PM, she picks up the phone to call him. She sighs in relief when he answers with a muzzy, “Mmh?”

“Hey, it’s me,” she explains gently, “I was just worried because I hadn’t heard from you. Go back to sleep and we can talk when I get home, okay?”

A silence stretches a bit too long before a thick, “ ‘kay,” comes through the speaker. She chuckles as she disconnects the call and goes back to work with a lighter heart. She’s been careful to remember to keep glancing at Pierce’s office and smiling at points throughout the day, catching his eye as often as she can and trying to seem aflutter with the buoyant feeling of a new relationship. She finds that it’s actually not difficult to do… if she imagines the relationship with someone other than Pierce. Someone currently passed out in her guest room. A fond smile crosses her face.

“Penny for your thoughts, Decker?” Pierce materializes at her desk and she jumps, nearly scattering the file she was working on.

“Just… thinking about the conversation I’m going to have tonight, and its outcome.” She replies honestly, grinning up at him. She reaches across the desk and presses her hand on top of his. “This means a lot to me, Marcus. I know we’ve been taking it slow, and I appreciate your patience, but… I’ve been burned a lot in relationships, so it means a lot to me to know that you’re in it for the long haul.”

She’d meant the words to help plant the seeds for what she was planning to tell him soon, hoping it would help set her supposed frame of mind for him, but to her surprise, he stiffens as though she’s slapped him, and pulls away.

“That’s… that’s great Chloe,” he stammers. “You mean a lot to me, too.” He turns quickly and bolts back to his office. She watches him go, wondering at his response before shrugging it off and wrapping up her paperwork for the day and preparing to leave. She debates calling Lucifer again to see if he wants her to pick up dinner, but doesn’t want to wake him if he’s still sleeping off his week-long streak of consciousness.

Lucifer’s Corvette is nowhere to be seen when she arrives home, but she finds her partner dancing around the kitchen as he assembles a meal that smells utterly delicious, while music plays from his phone. He’s obviously been back to Lux at some point that afternoon: his hair is styled, his beard trimmed back to his normal immaculate stubble, and a fresh white button-down in place with the sleeves rolled up. A navy blue ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron firmly in place completes the look, and she can’t help but chuckle.

“Where’s your toque?” she asks playfully.

“Ah, Detective, that look never flattered _anyone_ ,” he assures her with complete seriousness. “The apron at least serves a purpose. Two, if one were to honor the written directive.”

He winks mischievously at her, and she laughs outright. _Kiss the Cook, indeed_.

“So, Trixie’s going to be here any minute, she’ll eat dinner, and then Dan’s going to pick her up. Let’s see if we can get this plan moving—the sooner we can get it over with, the happier I’ll be!”

“Right,” he’s all business now, one eye on his meal-in-progress, but the bulk of his considerable attention on her. “How did it go today?”

“I think I managed to set the stage,” she informs him proudly, “Ella called us adorable, and I kept flicking shy little glances at his office every so often, and I kept noticing he was looking back at me. He came over to my desk a couple times, and I made sure he knew I was planning to talk to Trixie tonight, and how much it meant to me to know that he’s in this relationship for the long haul.”

“And you didn’t pick up any suspicion from him?” Lucifer watches her worriedly, waiting for her answer.

“He… responded kind of oddly to that… when I told him how much his dedication meant. He stiffened up and nearly ran away. But… he said I meant a lot to him too, so he still seems to be on board.”

“And you’re still all right with moving forward, Detective?” He prods gently, “I… I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I’m not comfortable being the focus of a murderer and criminal mastermind, Lucifer, so I am _really_ invested in this plan.”

“Very well, Detective,” he sighs, visibly steeling himself. “Have you considered what happens if he _doesn’t_ move on when his curse doesn’t lift?”

“I…” Chloe gazes up at him blankly before admitting, “I really haven’t. I mean… this is our best shot, isn’t it?”

“Planning isn’t my strong suit, Detective,” he smirks at her as he goes to tend to the food on the stove. “You’re talking to the man who plotted his own death to save… someone important, after all.”

“You… _what?”_

“Neither here nor there, Detective, we need to focus on the task at hand, yes?” He hurriedly tries to put them back on track. “Are you still willing to go through with this idea, knowing that it may not work? If he sticks around and you choose to break up with him, we may wind up in an even deeper problem if we have a ‘jilted ex-lover’ murderer-slash-criminal-mastermind on our hands.”

Chloe considers this carefully. “If his objective is to die, and his current plan involves winning my affection to make that possible, once that plan fails he _should_ cut his losses and run. From what I saw of him when he first arrived, he doesn’t _make_ personal connections, so there would be no reason for him to stay here any longer than necessary. Right?”

“Perhaps we should ask Linda—”

“I am _doing_ this, Lucifer,” Chloe interrupts, exasperated. “I know it’s not the best plan, but… but I can’t take the risk of him circling around Trixie, especially after what you told me about him taking kids and… grooming them to be in his organization.”

“I don’t know that he did that with anyone other than our false Sinnerman, Detective—”

“I don’t care!” she cries, her voice breaking. “I need to get him out of my life as soon as possible. I wish I’d never met him! Are you going to help me or not?”

“I am sorry, Detective,” he murmurs, backing away to tend the stove again, flipping the burner off and removing the pan from the heat. “I’ll help you however I can.”

“Then we’re doing this.” She crosses the kitchen to grab plates and silverware, starting to set the table for the three of them. His words catch in her mind, and she turns them over as she works. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because none of this would be happening to you if not for my presence here,” he confesses quietly. “Cain came to LA because his spies told him of the Devil bleeding, which led him to you. If I’d only managed to stay away, perhaps in Las Vegas, you would be safe.”

“This isn’t your fault, Lucifer,” she turns and finds him behind her, serving plates in hand. Her eyes meet his warm brown ones, and if his hands weren’t full she would have liked to step up and hug him. “And I’m _glad_ you came back.”

He smiles at her, but there’s a sadness to it that makes her heart hurt. She’s about to say something more when Trixie bursts in the door, her sitter following at a more sedate pace, calling laughingly after her to slow down.

“Lucifer!” the girl cries excitedly and Lucifer backs away a pace, lifting the serving plates as a shield as Chloe stifles a laugh.

“Easy, baby, Lucifer’s got his hands full with dinner. Go wash your hands while I settle up with Heather.” Her daughter hugs her quickly and goes to put her bag away and wash, as Lucifer breathes a sigh of relief and sets the food on the table. Chloe converses quietly with the sitter and pays her before watching her get back in her car and drive safely away.

“Dan will be here in about an hour and a half to get her,” Chloe murmurs as she approaches the table, “We can put the finishing touches on the plan after that, okay?”

“Of course, Detective,” but there’s still a reluctant edge to his tone.

“Hey,” she moves into his space, looking intently up at him as she breathes in his soothing, familiar scent. “I can do this. We can make this work.”

“I have faith in you, Detective,” he whispers, taking a half-step toward her, closing the small gap she’d left between them. His warm exhalation washes over her face, and she feels that pull again—like a magnet—drawing her willingly into him. Her fingers trace his cheek as his head tilts down toward her, his eyes flickering down to her lips. Her stomach flips pleasantly and she leans in toward him just as he straightens and takes a step back. Chloe stops and stiltedly pulls back again, looking up at him in confusion. He lifts his head a little, his eyes traveling beyond her shoulder just in time to hear Trixie’s cheerful voice,

“What’s for dinner, it smells _so good!”_

Chloe shakes off their little moment, writing it off as nerves. She can’t pronounce whatever it is that Lucifer made, but it is _delicious_. Trixie laughs as she tries to copy Lucifer’s pronunciation, and he finally gives both of them up as a lost cause, declaring them both entirely too _American_. Trixie says something tartly to him in Spanish that makes him crow with laughter, and when his reply makes her dissolve in giggles, Chloe’s too wary to ask what was said. Trixie catches them both up on her day, and Lucifer’s commentary has them laughing all through dinner. As they’re clearing the table, Lucifer comes to attention, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the parking lot. Trixie has gone to gather the belongings that she needs to take with her to Dan’s, and Chloe approaches the sink with an armful of dishes.

“What is it?” she asks softly.

“He’s here,” the words rumble in chest like a growl, but he relaxes minutely as Chloe rests her hand on his arm. “Pierce, I mean, not Daniel.”

“I gathered that,” she replies dryly, and she feels his chuckle ripple through him. “You, what, heard his bike?”

“Mmhm,” he confirms, and she presses close into his side. “He appears to be waiting, I can’t hear him moving about. He must be intending to come up once Daniel retrieves your Offspring. Bit of an eager fellow, you’d think immorality would have forced him to cultivate some patience.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe smirks up at him, “ _you’re_ immortal, and you’re probably the least patient person I know.”

“I can be patient when I have to be, Detective,” he looks down his nose at her, but his eyes are warm with humor. “It’s just so _dreadfully boring_.”

The minutes tick by, Chloe packing the leftovers into containers and Lucifer pre-rinsing everything before loading the dishwasher, occasionally shooting suspicious glances in the direction of the parking lot but he says nothing more about Pierce. Finally his expression lightens a bit.

“Is he gone?” she whispers hopefully.

“No, but Daniel is here.” He mutters. She looks toward the door and a faint breeze hits her back, rustling Trixie’s drawings on the fridge. Trixie emerges from her room with her weekend bag and looks around, puzzled.

“Did Lucifer leave?”

Chloe turns to her partner, confused, only to find the space he’d been occupying next to her empty. She looks around before focusing on Trixie. “Yeah, sweetie, he had to get back to Lux. I think there was an emergency.”

“He didn’t say goodbye!” The girl pouts a little, her bag sagging to the ground. “Will he come back again soon? I didn’t like it when he stayed away so long.”

“I know, sweetie, I missed him too,” Chloe agrees. And she had. She’d been trying so hard trying to stuff Marcus into the Lucifer-shaped hole in her life that she’d not only pushed her best friend away, but also invited an immortal crime boss into their lives. “I hope we’ll be able to get back to normal soon. But hey, I need to ask you to do something for me tonight, okay?”

“You do?”

“Mmhm, and it’s really important, it’s about what Lucifer and I were talking about yesterday.”

“Okay…”

“Can you not talk about Lucifer being here tonight? We need it to be a secret for now. Not to your dad or anybody else, can you do that?”

“Are you guys dating now?” Trixie asks suspiciously, and Chloe’s eyes widen, flickering up the stairs where she can almost _hear_ Lucifer’s lascivious raised eyebrow and matching leer.

“No sweetie, we’re not dating right now.”

“Oh,” she sighs, disappointed. “I was really hoping you _were_.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Monkey,” she wraps the girl in a hug, and she snuggles in. “It’s just for tonight, okay?”

“Okay Mom, I can do that.”

“Thanks baby.” There’s a tap at the door and Dan lets himself in as always. “Hey Dan.”

“Hey Chlo’. All set to go, Trix?” 

“Yep!” the girl chirps cheerfully, grinning at her mom. “You’ll be okay by yourself, Mom?”

“I’ll be just fine, Trix,” Chloe laughs, pushing her daughter gently toward her father. “I’ll see you Monday.”

Chloe waits until they’re out the door before she whispers, “Lucifer?!”

“I told you, Detective, I can be _very_ fast,” his laughter rolls down the stairs like warm honey. “Hush now, Pierce will be on his way up once Sir Douche and your Offspring depart.”

Chloe rolls her eyes at Lucifer’s commentary and does a quick sweep, making sure there’s no evidence that Lucifer has been here this evening. He took his jacket with him, no shoes by the door, no extra glass out on the counter or table… all appears in place. She’s putting the last of the leftovers in the refrigerator when the heavy knock thuds on her door. She pulls in a deep breath, readying herself to play her role. “I’ve got this,” she whispers to herself.

“Marcus!” She opens the door to a fidgety Pierce on her doorstep in a t-shirt and jeans, and she gives him a happy grin. “I didn’t expect you tonight, what a pleasant surprise! Trixie just left, she loved the cake.”

“Oh, did she?” his tone is distracted, agitated. “I must have just missed her, I only got here a minute ago.”

_Hmmm… try thirty minutes ago, stalker._

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now,” she bats her eyes at him, trying for flirty rather than awkward. “Trixie’s _really_ excited to meet you, and she asked if you were the reason I’d been so happy lately.”

“Are you sure?” he asks hesitantly, and she looks up at him, confused. _That’s not a response I was anticipating._

“Oh, I'm sure.” She laughs, and it feels awkward. “Yeah. I-I'm done walking on eggshells. I'm done worrying about how this affects everybody else because the way that I feel about you is... just... don't get a big head. All right? We're both adults and it's not that big a deal.” She pulls in a deep breath _It’s not a big deal at all, because it’s not real. But Lucifer’s upstairs listening, and… focus Chloe._ She reaches out to him, smoothing her hands across his chest and shoulders. “But anyhow, here it goes. Um... I... really... like spending time with you. And I know why. Because, Marcus, I lo—"

“Stop!” His voice is strident, almost panicked. She furrows her brow, puzzled. He holds out his hands, steps away from her. “I can't do this.”

“What?” _No. Nonononono, this isn’t the plan, this has to work._ “Wait, no. Marcus, I mean, I know that this is scary, but sometimes you-you just have to take a leap of faith. You know?” He steps further away, putting more distance between them as she steps forward, trying to play out her role. “Hold on. Did something happen? Did... is it something I did or said? Because, look, we can take this slow. I just thought that...”

“You're just making this too hard.” His tone is cold now, and she can’t quite comprehend what’s going on.

“What?”

“It's not worth it.”

“I'm not worth it?” Her stomach twists. Despite this being a ruse on her part, the words strike deep into her core, that driving fear inside that no matter what, _no one_ will ever think she’s worth it, worth committing to, worth staying for.

“I have to go.” He practically runs for the door, scooping his helmet up on the stoop where he’d left it and slamming the door behind him.

“What just happened?” she murmurs dazedly to herself, her arms wrapped over her stomach to soothe the confusing emptiness inside.


	6. Celestial Clusterduck

She sinks down onto the couch and pulls her knees up to her chest, huddling into herself. A few minutes later, Lucifer appears at her side.

“Detective?” his voice is hesitant and low. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” She registers a growl building in his chest, and shakes her head quickly. “No, Lucifer, he didn’t hurt me, he just… some of the things he said hit a little too close for comfort.”

Lucifer glares at her front door, his body tense, and she realizes he’s considering going after Pierce, so she reaches out and takes his hand in hers. “Will you… sit here with me?”

He glances at the door only for another fleeting moment before bending to her request and sinking down on the couch. He leaves a small distance between them, and she immediately scoots to close it, leaning into his chest with her head tucked into his shoulder. He freezes at her sudden movement, but quickly pulls her close—the same way he had when she passed out on him on his own couch.

“What did he say that hurt you so, Detective?” he murmurs, and she can hear the rumble of anger in his voice, though he’s keeping it soft for now.

“Nothing I should be worrying about,” she tries for a laugh, but it comes out more than half a sob, and he gathers her in further, into a true embrace.

“And yet, here we are, darling,” he murmurs into her hair. “Will you tell me?”

“I’m not worth it,” she whispers into his shoulder, and she feels his arms tighten around her, his cheek pressing against her temple as if he’s folding himself around her.

“Detective,” he breathes softly into her ear, “For what it’s worth, I think I know exactly what inspired his little cop-out just now, if you’d like to hear my thoughts.”

She considers for a moment. Wrapped in Lucifer’s arms, Pierce’s words don’t have quite the power that they did before, but she finds herself curious, so she nods slowly against his shoulder.

“He was within moments of potentially realizing the only goal he’s had for thousands of years. All his plotting, all his efforts, his desires, leading up to this moment… and _everything_ would be different afterward.” His words surround her, a soft cocoon of reassurance, “I think he was terrified, darling, he thought that if he didn’t stop you from saying those little words, he would be faced again with mortality, and the possibility that he may wind up in Hell when he shuffles off this mortal coil, just like every other human on the planet.” She feels a grin tug at his cheek, still pressed against her temple. “Didn’t work, though.”

“I know… I didn’t get to say it,” she groans into his chest, and one of his hands comes up to gently stroke her hair. “What do we do _now_?”

“No, darling, you were magnificent,” he assures her, his other hand stroking her back soothingly. “Your performance was masterful… I’m sure the silver screen would welcome you back with open arms just based on that bit of talent you demonstrated tonight. Whatever happened, though… _our_ plan worked. Cain’s curse is lifted.”

“What!?” her head pops up, her eyes searching his. “How do you know? Did you… sense it or something?”

“In a way,” he chuckles. “I told you I can see quite well in the dark—I was watching him from the upstairs window as he fled back to his motorbike. Halfway across the carpark he fell to his knees, clutching his right arm. After a few moments, he staggered to his feet and yanked his sleeve up… his mark is _gone_. That means he’s mortal now.”

“He’s…” she trails off. “But, Lucifer… I _don’t_ love him!”

“I’m not saying you do, or do not darling,” he assures her gently. “If you say you do not, well, I believe you. Perhaps rather than being terrified of mortality, he decided he didn’t want to hurt you by dying so soon after your profession of love.” He ponders that thought for a moment. “If that’s the case, then perhaps by trying to _stop_ you confessing your love, he performed a selfless enough act to actually lift the curse himself… Hmm.”

“Nobody really knows what’s going on with this celestial stuff, do they?” she asks softly, pressing her cheek against his shoulder again and snuggling in.

“No-one but my father,” Lucifer confirms with a sigh, “and he’s not talking.”

They sit in silence for a long time, each drawing strength from the other as they consider what their next steps need to be. After a while, Lucifer murmurs quietly, “You are, you know.”

“Hmm?” They’d sat for along enough that she’d started to drift a little in the warmth of him.

“You are worth it,” the conviction in his declaration is a healing balm to the fresh wound instilled by Pierce’s words. _How can a man so clueless when it comes to emotion manage to nearly always say exactly what I need to hear the most?_ “You are worth… everything. Anything, Detective.”

“And yet you ran,” she shudders in his arms. “When you could have had me… we could have had _each other_ , but… you ran to _Vegas_.”

“I did.” He acknowledges, and she knows the sharp edge in his voice is aimed at himself. “I ran, and it was the bloody hardest thing I’ve ever done in my eternity of life… leaving you without a word, when you were barely recovered. I told you before that you deserve someone… better… Detective, that _I_ am not worth it, and nothing is truer than that.”

_What if I disagree?_ she doesn’t say. _What if “better” than you doesn’t exist in my measure, what then?_

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because if you had asked me to stay… I would not have been able to deny you,” he whispers into her hair, “And I don’t know how I could have stayed without hurting us both even more.”

“Will you tell me?” she asks tentatively, keeping her voice low inside their little bubble. “Why you ran?”

“I wanted to… to save you from me, I suppose.” he sighs sadly, “And I couldn’t even manage that properly, because I found I couldn’t _stay_ away. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, darling, but if you truly want to address one celestial clusterduck at a time, you’ll want to wait for that story.”

“Oh…” she breathes, tensing, “Is it that bad?”

“I didn’t react well to the reveal, Detective, and since we have no more real answers now than I had then… I have reason to believe you’ll… be quite upset. Probably with me.”

“If… you weren’t happy when you found out about… whatever it is… why would I be angry with you when you tell me what it is?”

“I…” he considers for a moment, “I suppose because of the way I’m involved in it. It’s difficult to explain without truly explaining, and I hope you believe me when I tell you that now is not the time to address it, not with Cain still in the picture.”

“But it’s not your doing?”

“Most certainly not my doing. I would _never_ ask to be involved in… in a situation like this,” he huffs a heavy sigh, “Let alone an innocent like you.”

“I believe you, Lucifer.” His arms tighten briefly around her and he moves to pull away, but she clings. “Will you… will you sit with me a little while longer?”

“If that’s your desire,” he settles back down, and she nuzzles against him, feeling the heat of him sinking into that cold void that had opened in her stomach at Pierce’s words. “I should be going back to Lux soon, though, darling. I’ve stayed here the past two nights, you wouldn’t want your neighbors to start talking.”

“Nobody knows you’re here but Trixie, Lucifer,” she laughs against his chest. “Where is your car, anyway, I didn’t even see it?”

“I parked 3 streets over. It’s rather easy to spot, you know.” He scoffs.

“I’d noticed.”

*******************

She wakes softly, feeling warm and peaceful. She realizes she’s still wrapped in Lucifer’s arms… basically in his lap, really… on her couch. She cracks her eyes open and the lamplight surrounding them seems different than usual. More white than yellow… did Lucifer replace _all_ the bulbs in the house, or just the blown safety light?

She starts to pull back, and meets an incredibly soft blanket of warmth against her back. She reaches for it and realizes that it isn’t lamplight surrounding them at all, but Lucifer’s faintly glowing, luxuriously soft wings mantled around the both of them. She takes a moment to stare at them in awe. The feel of them under her fingers is softer than rabbit fur, and she carefully strokes them, noticing a few crooked ones here and there, and nudging them so they line up with the others and lay flat. Lucifer twitches around her, sighing contentedly into her hair where his nose is buried at the crown of her head. Her eyes drift closed as she continues stroking them absentmindedly, so she doesn’t notice the tiny sparks of brighter light dancing in the feathers cocooned around her. Eventually, Lucifer’s arms tighten around her with a groan, and a muttered, “Bloody _hell_ , what on—”

Then the wings are gone. Her eyes pop open and Lucifer’s eyes are wide, trained on hers, and full of questions. She’s barely jostled as he quickly disentangles them and then he’s across the room, still staring at her with wide brown eyes. She stares back at him.

“Are you all right, Detective?”

“I’m fine?” Her voice ticks up at the end of the statement like it’s a question. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he replies quickly, sitting on one of the barstools and carefully crossing his legs at the knee. “Quite. My apologies, my wings don’t usually manifest as I’m sleeping. Grow back yes, manifest, no. I just… I don’t know what prolonged exposure would do to you, Detective, so… best to keep them hidden.”

“I feel fine, Lucifer,” she assures him. She pulls out her nearly-dead phone. “Ugh, it’s after 2 AM. We still need to figure out what our next steps are with Pierce…”

“I think it’s best you get some rest, Detective,” he suggests gently, standing and gathering his jacket. I’ll head back to Lux, and… what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she protests, trying to wipe the disappointed expression from her face. “You’re right, you should go. I’m sure you’d rather be back at Lux.”

“There’s never anywhere I’d rather be than at your side, love,” he says softly, and a warmth ignites inside her at that simple offhanded proclamation. “But surely you must be sick of me by now, I’ve been practically glued to you for the past 3 days.”

“Stay the night?” she wheedles hopefully. “We can hash out the rest of the plan in the morning?”

He glances away for a moment, then back with a sigh. “Very well, Detective. I also need to figure out how to address Maze’s treachery in all this as well… and see if I can suss out what their plan will be, going forward. With any luck at all, the oversize oaf will take care of the problem for us this evening, and we’ll only have to deal with Mazikeen.”

Chloe stands and stretches before turning out the lamp and crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Thanks for being my backup tonight, Lucifer. And… thanks for staying with me.”

“Of course, darling,” he murmurs warmly. “After all, you wouldn’t be _in_ this mess if not for me.” She grabs his hand and tugs him up the stairs behind her. The door to the guest room is open and she spies his new “sleep suit” neatly folded at the foot of the bed. He smiles brightly as he spots it and turns to her, “If this is going to become a regular thing, I’m going to need to bring some _actual_ sleepwear to keep here, Detective.”

“You know, as often as your clothing gets destroyed on cases, keeping a spare suit here wouldn’t be a bad idea. There’s room in the closet in here… What?”

“I—I was only joking, Detective,” he stammers, his playfulness evaporating. “I don’t think it will be necessary to keep clothing here. I had assumed…” he lets his sentence trail off, puzzlement written all over his face.

“You assumed what?” she rests her hand on his forearm, and he stares down at it, a small frown on his face.

“I… had assumed that once we were past this crisis and you had your answers, that you’d be quite willing to see the back of me,” he admits candidly. “Certainly you won’t want the Devil in your life any longer than he has to be—look what trouble I’ve lured to your doorstep!”

Chloe gapes at him for a moment before shaking her head. “Lucifer, of _course_ I want you in my life. You’re my _best friend_.”

He sighs, shoulders sagging. “You’re tired, Detective, and you don’t have the whole story yet. We’ll discuss this more later, I’m sure.”

“Lucifer,” she pulls him into a hug, and feels his familiar freeze-and-relax routine before his arms carefully return the embrace. “Good night.”

He hums into her hair, then releases her and disappears into the guest room, gently closing the door behind him.

*******************

“Are you all right, Detective?” Lucifer slides her plate of fluffy scrambled eggs and sausage in front of her with a piping hot cup of coffee and a concerned expression in his eyes. “You’re not still upset over what the man-ham said last night?”

“I’m fine,” she chuckles, picking up her fork and digging into her steaming breakfast. “I just didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.”

“Ah,” he nods carefully, “That’s… likely my fault, Detective, I told you divinity affects people in odd ways. It’s possible that my wings—”

“I don’t think it was your wings,” she shakes her head and reaches across the bar to pat the back of his hand reassuringly. “they’re pretty but they don’t really affect me other than me just not being used to them yet. I had some nightmares, but that’s all.”

The corner of his mouth twists downward, but he surprisingly doesn’t press her. “Well, Miss Lopez will certainly ask you what’s wrong, because you look as though you’ve been crying.”

“At least I’ve got an easy answer for that: Pierce broke up with me last night, after all.” Lucifer’s brow wrinkles in concern until she grins up at him, earning her a slow smile in return. It lights the warm brown of his eyes, and her heart beats a little faster. Adding in the barely-tamed bedhead and the easily discerned musculature under his “sleep-suit”, Chloe thinks she could get used to seeing Lucifer like this.

“Clever, Detective.” He starts on his own plate, and neatly inhales it before she’s even halfway through her own. “What is the plan for today, then?”

“I thought about that a lot last night,” she replies slowly, “I think it’ll just be easiest to go into work as usual and see if he even shows up. If he… took care of the problem last night, then we’re in the clear. If not, maybe he’ll already be planning to move on. That’s what I’m hoping for, anyway.”

Lucifer nods thoughtfully. “Do you want me to make an appearance at the office this morning?”

“Yes,” Chloe replies immediately, “but if Pierce is there it would look strange if you appeared before I’m assigned a case. So… as much as I want you there, it’s probably better to wait. I’ll hide out with Ella in the lab if I need to.”

Lucifer’s doubtful expression says everything it needs to about his opinion on Ella’s protective capabilities when it comes to Pierce, but he doesn’t voice an objection to her plan.

“Very well, then, I’ll be on my way,” he glances down at his clothing and a wry smile manifests, “Once I’ve changed, of course. I need to speak to my brother and Linda to see if either of them have an inkling as to what Maze may be plotting…”

“Oh! I meant to tell you, she called me the other day,” Chloe offers, hoping it will distract him from leaving immediately, and judging by the interested expression, it works.

“And what did our demonic diva have to say?” he purrs, leaning back on the counter. The shirt strains across his chest as his arms cross in front of him, and Chloe tries to shake herself from the distraction before he can notice.

“Not much, but it was… weird,” Chloe thinks back to the conversation. “She said she wanted to make amends, and I told her it was going to take some time, that Trixie and I were still upset. And she just seemed… fine with it.”

“Well, you know how she is with emotions—”

“No, not like, _disgusted_ fine, just… accepting. Almost like I was saying exactly what she wanted to hear. Then she said something that sounded just like what Pierce had said to me just a day or so before that—‘Fast or slow, whatever it takes.’.” Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “That made me suspicious, even when she tried to wave it off that she’d learned it from sex.”

“I can assure you that nothing about Mazikeen is willingly slow when it comes to sex.” He remarks dryly, and Chloe chokes on her mouthful of eggs.

“Lucifer, _ew_ ,” she takes a sip of her water and starts laughing. “I don’t need to know things like that.”

He shrugs cheerfully, “I suppose you’ll just have to miss out on some interesting stories, then.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage to survive, somehow,” She shakes her head, chuckling at his utter lack of shame.

“Okay, so the plan for today is what… I text you if Pierce shows up, you text me if you get a lead on Maze?”

“That seems reasonable, Detective.” He nods, straightening from his leaning position. “And the Spawn is safe with Daniel for the next couple of days, yes?”

“Yeah, Dan’s got her until Thursday.” Since she and Dan each only get one weekend off a month, they split their weekends off and then trade off for 3 days during the week on the other weeks. It’s complicated to track, but fortunately they have a good relationship now that they’re no longer married. Trixie seems to enjoy the variation, so they just go with it. Lucifer nods slightly once more in acknowledgement, then strides upstairs to change. Chloe follows him a few minutes later to ready herself for work, and finds him fully dressed, attempting to tame his curls in front of the bathroom mirror with his fingers and some water.

“Does that work?” She asks curiously, smirking at his expression of concentration.

“Not for very long,” his nose wrinkles as his eyes meet hers in the mirror, “but it will do well enough until I reach Lux and some proper equipment and products.” She snickers and he whirls to face her, all full of false indignance and charm. It all falls from his face and shatters when his eyes drop to the pendant she’s wearing again around her neck. His gaze fixes on it, and the raw emotion she reads there breaks her heart.

“I never should have taken it off, Lucifer,” she murmurs, and his throat bobs as his eyes slowly move up to meet hers. “I’m sorry I let him get into my head, and between us.”

“It’s not your fault, Detective,” his voice is suddenly hoarse, as though his throat is too tight for air to pass through properly. “He’s had thousands of years’ experience at manipulating people to get what he wants, and I didn’t adequately warn you. You made a choice, as I’d hoped you would. You owe me nothing, certainly not an apology.”

“What choice were you hoping I’d make?” she asks suspiciously, narrowing her eyes up at him and stepping closer. “Wait. You said last night that you ran to Vegas to save me from you. You were afraid your dad was messing with my feelings… you think He was forcing me to choose you?”

“What—” his face pales and he paces backward, only stopping when the small of his back rests against her vanity. “How do you know about that, Detective? Have you known all this time after all?”

“What? No,” she shakes her head, trying to step closer, but he holds up his hands as though warding her away. “I talked to Ella last week after I saw your wings and research was getting me nowhere. She told me about your Vegas trip, and something about me being put in your path, and you being worried that my feelings were being manipulated…”

“Oh,” he pulls in a deep breath and he relaxes a little, but doesn’t move any closer. “Ms. Lopez, of course. That makes sense. Yes,” he continues, going on to answer her question, “that was essentially what I was afraid of, and obviously it has to do with the situation that we agreed to discuss once Cain has been taken care of.”

“Fine,” Chloe scoffs, frustrated almost to tears at being so close to having some answers, but knowing they don’t have time to delve into whatever it is this morning, anyway. “But we _are_ going to talk about this, Lucifer.”

“I would expect nothing less of you, Detective.”

*******************

Chloe arrives at her desk with her sunglasses on. She’d started thinking a little too hard on the drive to work and her irritation at her current lack of answers had boiled over in the form of tears, enhancing her already reddened eyes. She applies herself to the never-ending stack of paperwork in her inbox for most of the morning, until she notices movement in the Lieutenant’s office. She glances up and finds Pierce’s blue eyes peeking through blinds at her before they snap closed, hiding him from view.

Chloe snaps her head back down to focus on the Duckworth file in front of her, cursing under her breath. _So much for him taking care of the problem for us._ She clings to the hope that perhaps he’s merely packing up his office in preparation to move on. She decides to check with Ella and see if the forensics report for this case is in yet, so she can close it and file it. She pops up from her chair, casting a nervous look over her shoulder at the Lieutenant’s office as she walks away.

“Hey, Ella,” she breezes through the door, trying for casual. “Do we have, uh... the-the forensics on the Duckworth case?”

“Dope shades, missy!” Ella greets her with a cheerful grin.

“Thanks.” _I need to text Lucifer and let him know Pierce is still here. Hopefully he’s found out something about Maze…_

“Yeah, I only wear mine inside when I'm like, super hungover or, you know, for some reason I've been crying.”

“Right,” she replies absently, still considering her mental to-do list. Too engrossed in her thoughts to pull back before Ella can pull down her sunglasses.

“Oh, no,” her friend sighs, seeing her red and puffy eyes, “What happened?”

“It's...” she huffs, annoyed at having to go through this song-and-dance routine, “Pierce and I broke up.”

“What?” Ella gasps, jaw literally dropping open in shock.

“Yeah.”

“Why? You were so great together.”

“Uh, yeah.” _Thanks for telling me I match well with a criminal mastermind/murderer, buddy._ “I... I don't know. I guess he just, he freaked out and he ran. I-I'm guessing he's terrified of intimacy. I... I'm just trying not to take it personally, 'cause it's not like this is the first time this has happened, so I just... wonder if it's something I'm doing.”

“No way. That is some buttload of crap, right there.” Ella’s expression has gone from shocked to angry, and Chloe tries to deflect the storm she can see brewing in her tiny friend.

“Okay, anyhow...” Ella bulls right over her attempt, and stalks toward the door to her lab

“I'm gonna walk into Pierce's office and I'm gonna give that studly, big-armed man a serious what for.”

“Hey.” Chloe catches Ella by the arm, gently turning her back to face her with a pleading expression. “Please do not say anything. All right? It's just gonna make things more complicated.” _And I don’t want you getting hurt by putting yourself in his psycho crosshairs._

“Fine.” Ella concedes, backing down after a tense moment that stretches far too long. “Okay, I-I won't interfere.”

“So… the Duckworth report?” Chloe nudges, with a small smile.

“Right!” Ella snaps to attention, crossing the lab to retrieve the appropriate folder. “Right, here you go Decker. You need anything, you come to me, got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” she salutes her friend, puts her sunglasses back on, and heads slowly back to her desk. Once there, she pulls out her phone to text her partner.

**_He’s still here. Any luck for you?_ **

**_Not yet, waiting to hear back from Linda, she’s in appointments all morning. Are you all right?_ **

**_Fine. You were right about Ella noticing._ **

**_Of course I was. Care for a lunch escape? I was going to meet with Charlotte for a check-in._ **

**_Yes please._ **

**_Excellent. Pick you up in an hour?_ **

**_See you then._ **

She breathes a sigh of relief at being able to escape the precinct for a little while, and tries to convince herself it has nothing to do with seeing Lucifer. She doesn’t notice Ella slipping into Pierce’s office while she’s chatting with Lucifer.

***************

She’s gathering her things to meet Lucifer in the parking garage when Pierce calls her into his office. She glances up, surprised. Normally when he’s assigning her a case he just drops it at her desk, but she approaches the office confidently with her head held high.

“Close the door,” he orders as she enters, and she hesitates, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously. “Just for privacy, I wanted to speak to you on a personal level.”

“You were very clear last night that there _is_ no personal level between us, sir,” she replies warily, keeping her hand on the door frame.

“Please, Chloe.” She exhales heavily and closes the door. He smiles widely, coming out from the behind the desk to approach her. She stays where she is. He pulls in a very deep breath, and releases a torrent of words on the exhale, as though he’s afraid if he doesn’t get them all out, they’ll drown him. “Okay, I know you probably hate me right now, but please, just hear me out. You were right, about last night... I got scared. Things got very real between us and I... I couldn't handle it. And... I'm not used to feeling this way. And I realize that now and that's why I promise it'll never happen again, because... because I love you.” 

“What?” She can’t keep the horrified note out of her voice. _Oh, this can’t be happening._

“I love you, Chloe.” He huffs an enormous sigh, as though a heavy weight has been lifted from him by saying those 3 damnable words, and smiles at her happily. She takes a step back from him, bumping into the door behind her.

“Wh-What do you expect me to say to that?”

“Well, that you love me, too.” As though the answer is obvious. And maybe a week ago, she would have been naïve enough to say it. She tries to consider her response, to think her way out of this situation on the fly without setting off her criminal mastermind ex.

“Look, Marcus,” she tries to inject a note of patience into her voice to temper the panic she can feel rising in her throat, “as much as I appreciate hearing you say those words... that's what they are: they're just words. I can't trust them anymore.

He eyes zero in on her fingers, which have automatically gone to her collarbone, and the bullet pendant resting comfortably there. In an instant his eyes are no longer warm and inviting, but icy cold and calculating.

“It’s because of Lucifer, isn’t it.” His tone sends a warning thread of ice skittering down her spine.

“No, Marcus, Lucifer had _nothing_ to do with our conversation last night,” she tries to be as firm as possible about that, remembering Lucifer’s certainty that Pierce would go after him if he thought Lucifer stood in the way of gaining Chloe’s love. “I took this off _for you,_ despite the fact that it means a lot to me, to prove that I was willing to make sacrifices for our relationship. You made it clear last night that you’re not willing. That has nothing to do with Lucifer, and _everything_ to do with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, sir, I’m going to lunch.”

His narrowed eyes follow her possessively as she hurries up the stairs to the elevator for the parking garage.

****************

“Detective!” Lucifer waves at her jauntily from the driver’s seat of his Corvette the moment he spies her exiting the lift. “I’m afraid I haven’t been able to track down Charlotte, but Amenadiel is on the case. Believe it or not, he actually volunteered to help us with this mess—”

“We’ve got a problem, Lucifer,” she murmurs quietly, “Can we go somewhere? Private?”

“Of course, darling,” he doesn’t question her, other than to make sure she’s all right. She nods stiffly, feeling a little of her apprehension fade as he pulls out of the parking garage and into downtown traffic, heading toward Lux at speed.

He turns to her once they’re in the elevator, eyebrows lifted in expectation of enlightenment. She closes her eyes and leans her head back against the wall of the elevator car. “Pierce is not only still here, he thinks he’s in _love with me._ ”

“Oh,” Lucifer breathes quietly. He takes a couple of breaths as though he’s about to speak, but no further sound emerges, and when she opens her eyes he’s watching her with an unreadable expression.

“What?”

“Well,” he visibly pulls himself together, his public mask that she’s really learning to hate sliding seamlessly into place. He’d worn that mask constantly in the early days of their partnership, and she couldn’t _stand_ him until he’d started giving her glimpses of the man underneath… the man (angel, devil, whatever) that she’s only now starting to admit to herself that she’s fallen in love with. She doesn’t like it when he feels that he needs to hide from her. “I dispatched Amenadiel with the goal to set dear Charlotte on figuring out how to prove Pierce is the Sinnerman. If anyone can do it she can… and now that he’s mortal there’s a good chance that once convicted, he’d actually be out of our hair until he’s truly dead. But… Detective, I can still call them off if you’re considering giving him another chance for your affections.”

“You really think I’d consider a relationship with him? The crime boss? The manipulating bastard? The _murderer_?”

He flinches almost imperceptibly, and she remembers too late his words from last night, that all those accusations could also be laid at _his_ feet. The elevator doors chime before he can reply, and he quickly exits the lift and heads for his bar. He chooses a random decanter and moves toward the kitchen, calling behind him, “Come along then, Detective, is grilled cheese all right? I should at least feed you before you need to be getting back to work, I did promise you lunch, after all.”

She follows along after him, considering what to say next. “You were right again, by the way.”

He pauses in gathering the ingredients he needs, glancing her way. “I usually am, Detective, but what about this time?”

“He noticed that I’m wearing your necklace again, and when I shot him down, his first assumption was that it was because of you.”

“Ahhh, lovely,” Lucifer grins widely, and Chloe is reminded a bit of a leopard that’s just spotted a wounded gazelle. “So the man-ham fancies himself jealously in love, does he? Well, things just got more interesting.”

“Lucifer, it’s not interesting,” she reminds him patiently, raising her voice when he waves off her concern and goes back to preparing lunch for them. “You’re vulnerable when you’re around me, and if Maze is still working with him, he’ll be able to hurt you even if I’m _not_ near you.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten, darling, not to worry.” The griddle sizzles as he places the buttered bread on it and starts adding the cheese. “But perhaps we can distract him by letting him stalk me while Charlotte gathers her evidence, hm? Give him something to do besides pant at your heels?”

“Are you suggesting I let him think he has a chance with me if he gets you out of the way?”

“I would _never_ put you in harm’s way like that, Detective,” he turns to stare at her, affronted. “It sounds as though he’s already made up his mind regarding me anyway, and nothing you do or say is likely to change it… I only wonder if he’ll try coming after me himself, or call in one of his favors…”

She growls in frustration. “Have you heard anything from Linda about Maze?”

“Unfortunately, Mazikeen is not on speaking terms with Linda at the moment, apparently she’s still angry that she and my brother had gotten together against Maze’s wishes.”

“Linda and Amenadiel?” Chloe stares at him in shock. _“Really?”_

“I know!” he scoffs, “I was quite disappointed, I’d really thought the Doctor had better taste than that, but, well, she’s only human. I told Mazikeen she was being greedy, not wanting Amenadiel for herself but not letting Linda have her fun, but she’s certainly taken it too far now.”

“That’s why she wants to go back to Hell?” Chloe considers, thinking aloud. “That’s why she started acting out around the house, and having that entire band over, and saying those horrible things to Dan… and insulting Trixie.”

“It seems highly likely, yes.” He sighs, flipping their sandwiches adeptly. “It’s reached a point now where I’m almost willing to just tell her I’ll take her back there, if that’s what she wants so badly… though I don’t think she’ll be happy once she’s there. She’s changed as much as I have in our time here… perhaps more. Going back won’t be a pleasant adjustment for either of us.”

“Are you planning to go back?” Chloe asks quietly as he slips a plate in front of her, along with a glass of water. She watches him as he scoops his sandwich onto his plate, dreading his answer.

“I have no desire to return to Hell, now or _ever_ ,” he admits carefully, “but there is always the possibility that I will be required to. For example, as a bloody Uber service for wayward demons.”

“What happened between you two?” she wonders, trying to distract herself from the idea of Lucifer leaving for Hell.

“I called her here after the winery case,” he takes a sip from his tumbler before turning to his sandwich, “to apologize for behaving so badly when I thought she was trying to manipulate me. She refused my apology, and asked me to take her back to hell, saying that she couldn’t handle the torture that actually feeling emotions was putting her through—a sentiment that I thoroughly sympathized with.”

“She said you wouldn’t.”

“She was telling the truth,” he doesn’t meet her curious gaze, but speaks to the sandwich in his hands. “I told her that I couldn’t take her back, because I couldn’t stand to lose her, too.”

“Too?”

He huffs a soft laugh. “That’s what she said, as well. I’d… I’d just watched you ride off with Pierce, you see, and… you looked so happy. You’d pulled away and it was all my fault. If I took Maze back to Hell, I’d be all alone here, and… and I don’t know if I could…” he clears his throat. “Well. You seemed happy, and that’s what was important at the time. I didn’t realize refusing her request would send her into a revenge-fueled mission for manipulation and mayhem.”

“Lucifer,” she murmurs, steeling her nerves as she waits until his eyes lift to hers, “I wanted _you_. You’d been pushing me away, and… and Pierce was there and seemed interested. It… it made me feel better, like _someone_ wanted me.”

“I know I pushed you away, darling,” he smiles sadly. “I was trying to keep you off my father’s radar because I was afraid that I was putting you in danger by helping Cain try to die. And when I pushed you far enough, Cain was ready to take advantage. As I said, my fault.”

“You know, I’ve never asked you to protect me.” She finishes her sandwich, thinking carefully. “In fact, I think I’ve been pretty clear about demonstrating that I can take care of myself.”

“I’m quite aware of your excellent capabilities, Detective,” he agrees mildly. “But even you must admit that angels, immortals, and demons might be a little out of your realm of experience?”

“I don’t think I can wait for Cain to be dealt with before I start getting answers, Lucifer.”

“I was afraid you were going to say something like that, Detective,” his smile is wry, but eyes are alight with pride in her inquisitive nature. “I only hope the answers that you seek don’t melt your brain. There is quite a _lot_ to explain.”

“Can we start tonight? I’ve got to get back to work.”

“As you desire, darling.” He collects her plate and glass, placing them both in his dishwasher and returning to the bar. “Hopefully we’ll have some news on Mazikeen by then.”


	7. What is time to the timeless?

Chloe returns to her desk after lunch to find it absolutely _overrun_ with flowers. Her gut fills with lead as she automatically plucks the card, already knowing who they’re from. She grabs three of the vases and storms to the Lieutenant’s office, not bothering to knock.

 _“This_ has got to stop, Pierce,” she growls, plunking the arrangements down on his own desk so he’s blocked from her view. “It’s completely inappropriate, and no amount of flowers or apologies are going to erase what you did yesterday. We’re done here, and I’m going back to _work_ once I bring the rest of your _gifts_ in here so I have an actual workspace again.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond, and it takes her three more trips to completely clear her desk of the offending bouquets. She feels his eyes following her until she plants herself back at her now-clear desk, seething over more paperwork for a couple more hours before Dan stops awkwardly at her desk with a file on a new body at L.A. West Ballet. Chloe nods, relief surging through her at being able to escape Pierce’s proximity for a while as she gathers her things and prepares to leave. As she follows Dan up the stairs, she spies Maze stalking thunderously toward Pierce’s office. She pulls out her phone and texts her partner.

**_Maze just walked into Pierce’s office. Got a case- L.A. West Ballet, you coming?_ **

**_I’ll see if I can catch Maze, then meet you when I can._ **

**_Still on for dinner tonight?_ **

**_Darling, there is nowhere I would rather be, difficult conversations notwithstanding._ **

She lets the warmth of that declaration wash over her, pointedly ignoring Dan’s odd looks on the way to the ballet theater, where they meet Ella and go over the crime scene and victim details. Cast interviews take most of the remainder of the afternoon, with Chloe letting Dan handle most of the note-taking. By the time they exit the ballet hall the sun has set, and Dan has to scramble to get Trixie from her sitter. For once, Chloe’s glad she doesn’t have Trixie tonight, since she’s increasingly distracted by the fact that it’s been several hours and Lucifer hasn’t responded to her text requesting an update yet. _He always responds… it’s like a compulsion._ But… he hasn’t even read it. And that’s almost even more concerning.

_I’ll just have to find out at dinner tonight. And since he hasn’t responded, that means I’m heading to Lux._

***************

“Well, Mazikeen,” Lucifer’s silky voice rolls ominously from the shadows of the parking garage, “you’ve been quite the busy little demon lately, haven’t you? Plotting with Cain, making friends into enemies, getting framed for murders… how _have_ you found time for your bounty-hunting hobby with all that mayhem going on?”

“Lucifer,” The demon acknowledges, crouching into a defensive pose, head cocked, listening for his approach. She knows it’s fruitless, knows how silent he can be when he chooses—but she is _Mazikeen of the Lilim_ , and no one knows the devil like she does. “How’s those _daddy issues_ coming along?”

“Oh, Mazikeen, do relax,” he steps from behind one of the support posts, where he’d been leaning against her Audi R8, his charcoal suit nearly blending with the satin silvery-grey finish in the dim light of the garage. “I’m only here because I’ve decided to offer you a deal for your stated desire.”

“I don’t trust you,” she spits, warily circling the devil casually standing beside her fender, knives ready.

“That’s just fine, Maze, because I’ve sadly discovered that I can no longer trust _you_ ,” Lucifer’s tone is cold, but his eyes are full of fire and brimstone. “If your plotting had only been harming me, I might have let it slide, but now you’ve gone so far as to attempt potential indirect harm on not only the Detective and her Offspring, but also the good Doctor as well. And I can’t let that stand.”

“So you’re here to what, _scold me?”_ She laughs, and she can taste the bitterness of it on her tongue

“Don’t be absurd,” he clicks his tongue in admonition, pulling out his silver cigarette case and nonchalantly lighting one. He releases a breath, and the smoke wreathes his head just as an errant beam of light reflects off a passing car window, giving him a glowing halo for a brief moment. “I’m here to take you _home_ , as requested.”

“What’s the catch?”

“The catch is that you must go and have a _real_ talk with Linda first. She has some things she wishes to discuss with you before you depart. Then come to me at Lux so I can store your car for you. I will transport you to Hell, then return for you in one Earth week. If you’ve got… whatever _this_ is out of your system by then, you’ll be welcome to return to Earth. If not, then Hell can keep you, and you can keep your siblings in line.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t lose me,” she sneers, flipping her blade idly in her hand. “Not being without your precious pet Detective, too.”

“Yes, well,” his smile is all teeth and no warmth, and though his stance doesn’t change, she’s suddenly reminded that he _is_ an apex predator in kiddie pool full of tadpoles. “as amusing as this whole ‘frenemies’ charade has been, I find I’ve tired of it. I’ll make do without you, Mazikeen. At least I won’t need to be looking over my shoulder, wondering if I’ll find your blade lodged in it.”

“Now who’s being ridiculous?” she laughs, “I would never bother stabbing you in the shoulder. It would either be your gut, or your heart.”

“I appreciate the insight,” he intones dryly. “Now, will you go speak to Linda? I’ll repeat that it needs to be a _real_ conversation, and I assure you that Linda will let me know if it is not. And if you _harm_ her, Mazikeen, I assure you that human emotions will be the _very least_ of your worries.” His eyes flare red, and this time the wreath of smoke becomes a halo of fire rather than heavenly light.

“I’ll go,” she decides abruptly. Cain was backing out on his end of the deal anyway, this is her best bet at getting home. “I’ll meet you at Lux in an hour.”

“I’m willing to wait, if your conversation takes longer,” he turns to go, showing no concerns about exposing his back to his former sentinel as he walks away. “Linda’s waiting for you.”

“Oh, it won’t.” She settles into the driver’s seat, the supple leather squeaking softly against her skin-tight leather pants as she throws the car into gear and squeals from the parking space.

She bursts through the door of Linda’s office without bothering to knock. Linda, who had the foresight to clear her office of all patients once she knew Maze was on the way, is very careful not to startle.

“What.”

The therapist eyes her demonic friend carefully. She’s not afraid that Maze will hurt her, but it’s incredibly important that this conversation go well. If she _can,_ she hopes to talk Maze out of returning to Hell at all.

“Hello Maze,” she says placidly, “I’m so glad you came.”

“Yeah, it’s not like I’ve got a choice, here,” the demon growls, stalking into the room and flopping bonelessly down on the couch. “Lucifer’s refused to take me back until I have a ‘real conversation’ with you, whatever the hell _that_ means.”

“It means that we have actual communication, that you fully participate in, Maze, rather than simply growling, grunting, or sneering at me while I try to draw you out.” Blunt is often best when Maze is like this. Attempts at tact only make her angrier when she’s already upset. “You’ve been avoiding talking with me, and if you’re really leaving for Hell, I wanted to try to clear the air between us, and at the very least be able to say goodbye.”

“Why bother?” she snaps, fingers twitching to reach for one of her knives to twirl. “I’m just a demon.”

“You’re my friend, Maze,” Linda says simply, and the demon’s face blanks in the face of such an easy statement of fact. “You matter to me, what you _feel_ matters to me, and I know that I hurt you by lying about my relationship with Amenadiel.” The therapist takes a deep, steadying breath and continues while her friend stares at her in stony silence. “The truth of the matter is, we had already started seeing one another before you came back, but… it was at an awkward stage that we couldn’t really put a name to what it was between us. When you came to me about how uncomfortable you were about us being together… I just didn’t know what to say.”

Maze scoffs, glaring a hole in the wall just beyond Linda’s left shoulder. “So you just lied?”

“I did,” she admits sadly, “and I felt horrible for it, and I _still_ feel horrible for it. I told Amenadiel not long afterward that we couldn’t see each other anymore because I didn’t want to lose you as my friend, and we haven’t been together since.”

“Yeah, well, too late,” she hisses. “I am _done_ with Earth, with humans, with _everything._ Can I go now?”

“If you’re still set on going back to Hell, of course you can leave,” Linda sighs. “But I want you to know that I don’t want you to leave. I think you’re going to find that going back isn’t going to be as easy as you think it will. You’ve changed so much in your time here, Maze, you have friends here… do you really want to give it all up?”

 _“Hell yes_ I do!” the demon surges to her feet, no longer fighting the urge to fidget with her knives. “Going back means no more of these _stupid, human_ emotions, no more getting inside my head, only blood and sweat and torture and pain—the _only_ real things I can trust.”

“I… hope you find what you’re looking for Maze,” Linda stands and crosses to her office door, opening it and stepping back to let Maze pass. “And I hope you choose to come back when Lucifer returns for you. You have people that care about you here, and we will _miss you._ ”

“You’ll all forget about me soon enough,” Maze sneers as she stalks past the shorter woman. “You’re human, it’s what you _do.”_

“Good-bye, Maze,” Linda whispers sadly, watching the demon stride quickly away.

******************

Lucifer leaves Maze fuming in the parking garage and lands on his balcony with a sweep of his pesky wings. He has little doubt that Mazikeen will arrive in _less_ than one hour, just to prove how eager she is to go back. He growls to himself as he leans on his railing and takes a deep drag from his still-lit cigarette. He watches the ashes flutter from the smoldering tip with distaste, thinking of the trip he’s about to undertake. The constantly falling ash is only one of the infinite things he passionately hates about Hell. The lack of light. The lack of fresh air. No view of the sky. The demons (Oh, Dad, _especially_ the demons). The echoing silence in the corridors, broken only by the gentle rattling of the unlocked doors and the occasional creak of the chained ones (the ones for the _true_ psychopaths, that feel no guilt and could easily escape their Loops without due diligence). The fact that, although it’s hot as, well, _hell_ , it still manages to thoroughly chill his soul. It’s as though it was designed to feed on everything that he is, to drain him of the very things that he holds most dear. Music, light, laughter… love. There is no love in Hell. There isn’t even _friendship_ in Hell, only shaky loyalties built on quicksand and sinkholes. The devil has never managed to have friends before now… at least, not _real_ ones… more than the passing acquaintances he would manage to claw from his brief visits before Amenadiel would arrive and hound him back to his despised throne.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, texts Linda to let her know Maze is on the way, and considers letting Chloe know he’ll be making a brief hop to Hell, but… no sense in worrying her over such a little visit… he’ll be back in plenty of time for their chat over dinner this evening. He places the phone on the countertop and pours himself a tumbler of his current favorite scotch. He considers Mazikeen as he sips it, savoring the musky tang of peat on his tongue and the warmth of it as it slides smoothly down his throat. She’d been the _only_ demon – Lilim or otherwise—to show unwavering loyalty to him in Hell, which is why he had allowed her to stay on Earth when he had decided to stay himself. Since then… well. Her betrayals had been frequent and varied… but always with the same goal—to get _back_ to Hell.

 _Yet she gave up my one remaining feather to save Amenadiel’s life_. He muses. He wonders, as he has many times since that day, if the feather would have held enough divinity to actually let them cross the dimensional plane… but as always before, he’s unable to surmise an answer. _It was enough to heal Amenadiel, I suppose that’s all that matters at this point._

He finds himself wishing he had time to head to the murder scene, but even if he flew he’d only be there for twenty minutes tops before he’d have to make his excuses and leave. He sighs and settles at the piano to play. Music has always been a favorite way to spend his time, sometimes even chosen over sex. Fortunately, it tends to combine well with his _other_ hobbies of alcohol and drug use, so he often multitasks… but today he limits himself to only scotch and one of his favorite sonatas. He closes his eyes and lets the music take over, savoring it just as much as the scotch, and for many of the same reasons—where the alcohol warms his stomach, the music warms his soul. As his fingers caress the keys, coaxing forth the haunting melody, he recalls every moment in Hell spent mourning his losses, and also every moment spent celebrating regaining them once he’d returned to Earth. Time courses past, but he pays no mind. After all, what is time to the timeless? Nothing more or less than the relentless memories of yesterdays, and promises of tomorrows.

His phone chimes, tugging him roughly from his reverie. He lets the music flow to a natural stopping point before standing and stretching, then takes his tumbler and empties it as he moves to the bar to receive the news that Maze is on the way, and she’s still intent on leaving. Lucifer nods to himself grimly. He hadn’t held high hopes that Linda would be able to talk his demon out of her intent to the infernal plane, but he’d apparently held some low ones because he feels them falling now.

**_We’ll give her few centuries in Hell to get whatever this is out of her system, then see what she wants to do. Thank you for trying, Doctor._ **

**_A few centuries?!_**

**_Perhaps a millennium or two. A mere week in Earth time, worry not. A mere blink in her lifespan._ **

**_Will you stay there with her?_ **

**_No, best to let her work out her frustrations without myself as a tempting target. I’ll be back nearly as soon as I’ve gone._ **

**_Text me when you’re back!_ **

**_Very well, Doctor._ **

He’s back out on the balcony, basking in the late afternoon sunlight when the elevator chimes and Maze steps warily into the penthouse, allowing her boots to make all manner of noise to advertise her presence as she storms through the flat and out the glass doors to where he’s relaxing.

“Let’s go,” she grunts, crossing her arms over her breasts. “You said you’d take me if I talked to Linda.”

“And so I shall,” he agrees lightly. “I’ll leave you there for an Earth week, then check in to see if you’ve changed your mind, does that sound fair?”

“Fine,” she snaps, eyes flashing. “Let’s just go.”

“What, no green tea coconut water to go?” he teases her, and she hisses at him.

“I’m traveling light, okay? I’ve got all my blades in here.” She lovingly pats the leather satchel strapped close to her hip, and he nods. One can never have too many knives in Hell.

“Very well,” he opens his arms and she steps eagerly into his embrace as his wings unfurl. She pulls in a shallow breath at the sting of divinity at such close range, but doesn’t flinch away. She wraps her arms around his lower back, under his wings and clings tight, bracing herself for the dimensional crossing, and then the next breath she takes is full of the sweet sulfur stench of _home_.

Her smile widens into something feral as the atmosphere of Hell sings through her veins, her natural face coming to the fore without effort for the first time in what feels like millennia. She can feel it thrumming through her, the call of all the damned souls needing her guidance, her attention, her _domination_.

Lucifer takes a half-step back, his wings held ready to depart as he glances around in revulsion, recalling his earlier musings about Hell draining him of the things he loves.

“Well Mazikeen, do enjoy yourself. I’ll see you in a few centuries when I check in to see if you’ve reconsidered your priorities.” She looks up at him and her eyes are wet. He steps toward her again in concern, “You don’t have to stay, you know, I can— _oh—”_

He’s not expecting the sharp intensity of pain that blazes to life in his abdomen, and he pitches forward with a gasp, astonished to find one of Mazikeen’s hell-forged karambits buried in his gut. His fingers scrabble uselessly at the blood-soaked hilt protruding from his groin like a macabre erection.

“I told you,” she hisses reverently in his ear, “I’d never stab you in the back. I also told you that whatever the danger, I'll be there to stop it. Whether you see it coming or not. Earth is no good for you, Lucifer, you’re going soft. Now, you just take it easy, I’ll throw you in your loop for a few centuries to heal, no one will even know you’re there, so you’ll be safe enough. If you don’t manage to crawl out to try to smite me by then, I’ll consider coming to get you to see if you’ve… re-thought your priorities.”

“Mazikeen—" She brings both arms up swiftly and holds them together, bringing them down with all her considerable force on the back of his bent head. His knees buckle and he lands hard, slamming face-down on the heated stone floor of the corridor. The last thing he hears is the shattering of bone echoing inside the darkness of his mind.

*****************

The demon uses her connection to Lucifer to locate his loop.

“I should have _known_ he’d land us on the opposite side of the plane from his damn door,” she grumbles, dragging her king’s inert form through the corridors. Fortunately, demons don’t usually roam Hell, they’re mostly occupied in the loops, or the torture chambers—where all the action is. She licks her lips in anticipation of joining them once she gets Lucifer into his loop. If she can just keep him away from Earth for a few centuries, he’ll remember all the things he loves about Hell. The punishment. The adoration of the demon hordes… Well, no, he never really cared for the near-worship they lavished on him. But the punishment… he _definitely_ misses that up on Earth. _That_ will remind him where he belongs. Where _they_ belong.

 _Hellfire_ , she’d forgotten how _heavy_ he is. Maze is supernaturally strong, of course, but Lucifer is supernaturally _heavy_. _You’d think a creature with wings would weigh_ less _._ He groans against her and she shushes him, not wanting to draw the attention of other demons. King or not, any injury made you fair game down here, and his feathers would be _quite_ the trophy for her siblings. Her arms are wrapped under his armpits, forcibly keeping his wings folded tightly against his body, and her hands locked around her wrists as she drags his unconscious body through the twisting basalt-lined caverns of Hell. She leaves the knife in place—the better to slow the bleeding— the hilt twitching in time with his shallow, agonized breaths and any time she allows his body to bend. Blood patters slowly onto the pathways as they pass, to be covered in time by the ever-present ashes drifting down like snow from what passes for the sky in Hell. There are no sunrises or sunsets to mark the days, so she rests when she needs it, tugging him into nooks and crevices to hide from any passing demons. She tries to convince herself that she’s not concerned when he doesn’t regain consciousness after the second month of rigorous travel. She remembers how long he lay like death after his fall, recovering so slowly he may as well have been a corpse in fact. Hell is a vast plane, and the twisting of the corridors adds even more distance to an already arduous journey. At the sixth month, she decides it should be safe enough to remove the blade from the wound—hoping some clotting would have occurred by now. Several things happen now at once: she pulls it out in one swift motion, a fountain of blackened blood spills from the wound in its wake, and Lucifer awakens with a bloodcurdling shriek, leaping to his feet with bladed wings flailing, scoring her deeply across her thigh.

“Shit!” the demon’s eyes widen as she claps a hand over her gaping wound as Lucifer hunches nearby, his hand holding pressure to his own wound. “Lucifer?” Blood bubbles readily over both their fingers, mingling with the ash that’s blown into their shelter throughout eternity.

“Lucifer?” He looks back at her, eyes wild and blank. She scrabbles toward him, but he spreads his wings and he’s gone in a stuttering heartbeat.

Mazikeen of the Lilim, once the most trusted sentinel of the King of Hell, huddles alone in a crevice in Hell and tries valiantly to keep her lifeblood inside her body.

******************

He bounces between a dozen dim, ashy, horrifying locations before he’s hit by what feels like a meteor and strikes an unforgiving surface.

“Don’t look, honey!” “Is he dead?” “Did you _see_ that!? Just blinked and he was there, right in front of that truck!”

Pain. Myriad new aches join the already pounding dull throb of his head and the deep, draining, incessant ache of his gut. He tries to focus on his surroundings, but there’s so much. Voices. Exhaust. Warm pavement beneath him. The feel of blood trickling down his forehead, from his nose and lips, and from his wounded abdomen. He tries to pull in a deep breath and fails miserably, sucking in a thin whistling line of air instead, then trying not to cough as his chest feels as though it will shatter if he does.

“Easy there Mistah, can ya hear me?” Someone shoves something soft under his head and he groans in agony as the bones of his skull grind together. “Just lay still ‘kay? We’re gonna—HEY! Hey Offisuh! We got a pedestrian been mowed down by a truck over here!”

He flinches as the volume of the samaritan’s voice sends a spike of agony into his brain. Hurried footsteps and figures kneeling around him, stealing his air.

“Russ, hey, Russ,” one of them mutters, as fingers probe his throat, checking for… what, life? “This is the consultant I told you about. Morningstar.” Silence. “ _You_ know, the one that works with the homicide detective. What’s-er-name, the one that was all over Palmetto. Jeez, he looks like he’s been shoved down a chimney, what’s up with that?”

“Decker?” the other finally replies, distracted with his radio and calling for emergency medical services.

“Yeah, her!” the first agrees, relieved. “Hey. Hey, Lucifer? Mr. Morningstar, can you hear me?”

He manages to crack his eyes open just as the second voice pipes up. “Ambo is on its way, Mr. Morningstar, just stay still, okay? I’m gonna see if I can get dispatch to put me through to your partner.” The officer walks away with his phone to his ear, and he tries to decide what to do now. The officer said to stay put, but he can’t. He can’t go to a hospital, though he can’t think why. He flails for a moment, and the first officer puts a careful hand on his chest, trying to convince him to stay still.

“Hey Russ!” he calls to the other officer, “Looks like he’s got a stab wound, too! Bleedin' something fierce!”

He flinches again at the loudness so close to his sensitive head, and the officer beside him quiets. “Man, buddy, you’ve been through somethin’. I’ve never seen you look half so rough, and I was on the scene after you pulled Decker out of that burning restaurant.” The officer looks around for his partner for a moment, having lost him in the milling scene. When he turns back, he’s saying, “Ambos’ll get you all patched up, you’ll see… where’d he go?”

******************

Chloe’s phone vibrates in her pocket and she presses her Bluetooth headset so quickly she almost pokes herself in the eye. She keeps a wary eye on traffic as she whispers hopefully, “Lucifer?”

“Hello to you too, Chloe,” Linda’s voice greets her, and the therapist sounds worried. “I guess you haven’t been able to reach him either?”

“I’m on my way to Lux now,” Chloe grits her teeth as L.A. traffic crawls around her. “I haven’t heard from him since I let him know Maze was headed for Pierce’s office this afternoon as I was heading out to a crime scene.”

“He caught up to Maze,” Linda supplies. “I talked with him today and he brought up the idea of giving Maze some time to blow off some steam in Hell where she can’t do any real harm for a while. I asked him to let me speak to her first, see if I could talk some sense into her…”

“I take it that did not go well?” The light ahead of her turns red, _again_ , and Chloe sighs heavily, starting to seriously consider using her lights.

“In fact, it did not. She decided to go back. Last I heard from Lucifer, he was going to take her and pop right back up, he said he’d be back nearly the moment he’d left.”

“Linda, how long ago was that?” She grips the steering wheel until the vinyl squeaks under the pressure.

“Hours.” Her tone holds all the worry she doesn’t want to verbalize.

A beep in her ear indicates another call. “Linda I’ve got another call, maybe it’s him.”

“Call me back!”

Chloe clicks over with a brusque, “Decker.”

“Detective Decker, it’s Officer Aaron Russ, LAPD Central Traffic Division. I think we’ve got your civilian consultant here, my partner recognizes him—according to witnesses he just appeared in front of a truck and took a pretty good hit, he also appears to be sporting a deep stab wound. We’re waiting on an ambulance now, but—” a ruckus kicks up in the background and Chloe can hear Officer Russ calling out for order. “What happened? Where did he go? Dammit Fontana, somebody hurt that bad doesn’t just disappear! What, did _you_ get hit by a truck, too? Okay, you’re right, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for—”

Chloe rolls her eyes and clears her throat loudly. “Officer Russ? My partner? You said Lucifer was hurt? Where are you?”

“Detective Decker, I… I don’t know how to explain this—My partner was certain this was your consultant, but the man could barely open his eyes and we weren’t able to get a confirmed ID, and he’s just vanished. We’re at—” he rattles off a location less than 2 blocks from where she’s trapped in traffic. _Guess that explains why I’m not moving._

“Okay. I’ll see if I can check in on him, see if it was really him. Thanks for the heads-up, Officer Russ.” She disconnects the call and takes a fortifying breath before redialing Linda.

“Linda, we might have a problem.” She reaches over and flips on her lights and siren, heading for Lux as the vehicles in front of her part like the Red Sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this took a very unexpected turn. I was really hoping for something nice and simple; straightforward, even. It... doesn't look like I'm getting that anytime soon. Keep your hands and arms inside the story, folks, I have no idea what lies ahead!


	8. I'm Sure It's Temporary.

He lands on a cool, flat surface and finds himself thankful that he’s not immediately accosted. The silence is a blessed change from the chaos of his previous location and the soothing caress of the clean, salt-laden breeze ruffling his hair tells him he’s not back in the plane of darkness, though it _is_ dark. He pries his eyes open despite the crustiness clinging to his lashes, and a faintly star-studded sky spins slowly above him, obscured only by the occasional blurring of his vision and the lights of the city he can hear churning below. He spies a banister and a glass wall to his right, and realizes he’s sprawling on a balcony— _his_ balcony? He watches the pretty lights slowly twirling above him in blissfully thoughtless silence until the pain in his skull surges again, forcing him to close his eyes. The agony in his gut intensifies, as well as that in his shoulders, neck, and… well, everywhere else. Footsteps approach slowly, and he groans.

 _Bloody hell, of course it’s too much to ask to just be allowed to suffer in solitude._ The steps are light, the swift intake of breath feminine. _Of course, I must look a mess._

“I beg your pardon for my intrusion,” he manages to croak. He grimaces as he realizes his mouth is lined with blood, and he swallows heavily trying to clear it, to make himself understood. The words don’t sound right to his ears—rather blurry—but he thinks he manages to convey his meaning. “Please don’t alert the authorities, if you can give me but a moment, I’ll be able to muster the strength to leave.”

The steps come closer, but he doesn’t open his eyes. The spinning feeling escalates and his stomach lurches painfully. At this point, if she kills him she’d really be doing him a favor. He hears the slight scrape of hard soles on the floor and the rustle of fabric as she kneels beside him. He tenses, readying himself to flee, but his eyes pop open when gentle, cool fingers caress his heated cheek.

“Lucifer,” the woman hovering over him breathes. Something unsettlingly familiar catches in his chest at the emotion in her voice. _This woman knows me. As the two officers had? Or something more? If this is his flat, is she a previous bedmate, come for an encore?_ Her hands gently graze over the more obvious injuries, and he winces at even that slight pressure. Her voice wavers as she exhales, “What _happened?”_

“I’m… not sure,” he whispers, struggling to think, “I was… somewhere else, Hell maybe? There was… Maze was there. She was going to stay… wanted me to stay—stabbed me… My head.” His thoughts are too scattered, too painful to try to order. He stops trying to speak, and she seems to recognize that he’s out of words. He wonders muzzily if he’s said too much, but if this human _is_ familiar with him, she must be used to hearing him speak plainly, even if she doesn’t believe it. He turns his thoughts to his current situation, trying to recall his most recent past. All that comes to mind is ash and heat, the reek of sulfur and the sounds of chains, the shattering of bone and the patter of blood on stone. The sensation of being dragged endlessly, of hoarse panting and cursing in his ear. The awareness of having the essence of himself drained away by the situation, the surroundings he’d found himself in. He tries to shake his head to clear the memories and immediately regrets it as the edges of his fractured skull grind painfully against themselves. He tries to sit up, but falls back with a strangled gasp, a gush of blackened blood escaping the deep perforation in his gut in a torrent of fiery pain.

“Okay,” she soothes, her hands taking his and placing them over the hole in his lower belly. “You’re gonna be fine. Can you apply pressure here? I’m going to call for an ambulance, and have Linda alert your brother to meet us at the hospital.”

“Michael?” A name bubbles weakly from his lips as it floats up from the inky depths of his aching head, disconnectedly.

“No, Amenadiel?” She watches him closely for any reaction, but he gives none. “Linda can get in touch with him since I don’t have his number. Come on, you’ve got to stay awake, apply pressure.” Lucifer wonders who this _Linda_ is, and how she’ll be contacting his arsehole of a brother. He’d really rather not involve him, but he’s too weak to protest, and if he can’t help, at least Amenadiel is still held by their deal to _leave him be_ , even if he is weakened by injury.

She fumbles for her phone, dials emergency services and orders an ambulance to Lux, giving as clinical a description of her partner’s current state as she can. Once she disconnects, she dials Linda and concentrates on her own breathing as Lucifer’s eyes stare blankly at the sky—only the occasional languid blink, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, and the continued dripping of blood from underneath his hands indicate that he lives.

“Did you find him?!” Linda barks, not bothering with a greeting.

“He’s here at Lux, I found him on the balcony,” She sobs a breath before pulling herself quickly back together. “Linda, I don’t know what to do, he’s hurt—bad. He’s been stabbed, it’s a gut wound and… it’s just bad. The officer that called me said he got hit by a _truck_ and he was less than two blocks from me when it happened, so God— _dammit—_ who knows what other damage he’s got. He… he says Maze stabbed him when they were in Hell.”

“Chloe, he needs a _hospital_. Call an ambulance!” Linda cries in exasperation.

“I already did, but… Linda, I wasn’t sure… what if they find something weird? Would Amenadiel know?” Chloe wants to pace, but holds herself at her partner’s side. “Also, I’m kind of afraid of Pierce finding out he’s wounded… what if he comes after him? Can you call Amenadiel and tell him to meet us at Cedars? You can give him my number in case he needs to call. He’s… he doesn’t seem like himself, Linda. I’m scared.”

“I’ll let him know, and we’ll _both_ meet you there,” she offers, “Is he lucid?”

“Um… sort of, just really mentally vague, and incredibly painful, I think,” her breath hitches in her chest again, “Hurry Linda, please?” She disconnects the call and places her hands over his, helping hold pressure over the steadily-oozing wound. His eyes have slipped closed again, and even in the dim balcony lighting she can see how pale he is.

“Hey,” she says gently, trying to rouse him, “You’re supposed to be keeping that blood _inside you_ , you know. C’mon, you’re not even trying.”

“It burns,” he whispers, hissing the ‘s’ longer than necessary. “Is m’brother coming?”

“He’ll meet us at the hospital,” she soothes, reaching up to thread her fingers in his hair, but he winces away, “Sorry, it’s only me.”

“It’s not that,” his lips twist painfully. “It’s…broken.”

“Broken? What’s broken?”

“My head… bones.”

“Your… your _skull_ is broken?” He flinches when her voice becomes shrill with panic, and she gentles her tone before continuing. “Okay. The ambulance will be here soon, just keep still. You need a hospital.”

“I don’t. No.” Something flickers in his scattered mind, he shouldn’t _need_ a hospital. He shouldn’t… something. Out of reach, hidden in the dark place.

“You don’t know what?”

“I… no hospital?

“Lucifer, you’re not making sense.” A tear spills down her cheek, closely followed by a second. “You’re losing a ton of blood, you have other injuries that need tending, and if your skull is broken you really need some help! I’m sorry, but… you have to trust me here.”

He should run. He shouldn’t entrust himself to a human health care facility, he _knows_ this. And yet. Something in him _does_ trust this woman. _Or perhaps it’s merely that I can’t bloody move._ Either way… “Very well,” he huffs a shallow sigh, suppressing a wince at the stabbing pain of broken ribs, because wincing hurts just as much. “Off to the bloody hospital we go.”

*******************

He wakes some time later in his thinly padded hospital bed, wearing this embarrassing atrocity of a hospital gown. He fidgets with the sling they’ve placed on his right arm, crossing it over his chest so his palm rests over his heart. Between the detestable gown and the utilitarian sling, he isn’t sure which is the larger insult to his sense of style. Detective Decker had seemed amused at his repeated complaints about his attire, and oddly relieved at them as well. He’s been trying to identify her demeanor toward him and as strange as it seems, he’s almost decided that she’s _fond_ of him. _Certainly not the reaction I’m used to._ He watches her sleeping on the low couch across the room, wondering why she’s still here. It certainly doesn’t seem a comfortable place to be.

He knows her name now, thanks to the EMTs that had flooded the balcony, and after a few muddled moments he had recognized it from the two officers that had been at the scene of his first arrival to the Earthly plane, with the unfortunate truck collision. Detective Decker the homicide detective, and he’s apparently a consultant for her. He hadn’t been able to piece together much more than that, yet. But all in all he’s quite pleased with his mental acuity, considering the radiographs the doctors had brought in to show them… his skull is in an _impressive_ number of pieces, though all still in place… and he has a sour feeling in his stomach (unrelated to the damn stab wound) that it’s not all from the vehicular trauma.

 _Mazikeen…_ He drifts back to the first moment he can recall after the encompassing grey fog in his mind—Mazikeen sprawled in a cavern, one hand clutching her bloody karambit and the other clapped over a _deep_ gash gushing blood on her thigh. He considers the wound in his groin and nods to himself, reluctantly accepting the idea that his trusted right hand had possibly betrayed him. Something had gone awry here on Earth for her to turn on him so. What could it have been? All he can remember are vague admonitions to _stop caring._

He wonders briefly if he should be more concerned about this partial loss of memory. He’d been very careful to avoid having the humans pick up on the sheer extent of it, using his other heightened senses to figure out answers to the questions he didn’t already know. _The last thing I need is humans poking around inside my head._ It’s not even a comfortable place for _him_ to be. He knows from the intensive questioning from the medical team that he’s been on Earth for about 8 years, but his memory of the past few is spotty at best. _How is that fair? If I’m going to lose memories, I’d much rather lose a few of the millennia from Hell, or how about my Fall? I’d gladly give those up…_ He’d recognized the ceiling and the root-shaped lighting fixture in his Penthouse, though, as the EMTs had rolled him through on the gurney—and hadn’t _that_ been embarrassing. He’d managed to get himself back home, at least—but what had Detective Decker been doing there? She’d seemed very concerned about his well-being, even insisting on riding in the ambulance with him. _Perhaps we’re working on a case and she needs my invaluable insights_. He’ll have to remember to ask her when she wakes up.

His brother had been quite a surprise—he’d tensed for a fight when Amenadiel had entered the room, but the elder angel had seemed genuinely relieved to see him sitting up and more-or-less lucid. _Doctor_ Linda Martin had expressed warm concern at his condition, but had spent most of the rest of her visit closely analyzing his every move and utterance and he’d found himself curious as to what their association had been. Both of them had tried to convince Detective Decker to leave, but she had been adamant on remaining with him. He’d been distracted by one of the medical staff asking their inane questions and hadn’t been able to listen to their conversation as closely as he’d liked.

His words still aren’t as clear as he’d like them to be, but he supposes that his normally precise diction and vocabulary will return as his head injury heals. His wandering thoughts lead him to the significant concern of the sheer extent of his injuries, and why he hasn’t healed as much as he _should_ have by now… it’s been _hours._ _I really shouldn’t have been wounded by the truck at all, unless it was divine, and I should be nearly back to normal by now_. Unless the stab wound had somehow weakened him further? He starts to pull in a tentative deep breath, but stops at the expanding pain of his ribs. _No, definitely not healed._ The pounding in his head throbs along the myriad fracture lines of his skull, mapping rivers of pain under his skin. He’s barely been able to keep his eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time, and the intermittent blurring in his vision is driving him mad. Aside from the pain and his worrying mental fogginess, the stab wound is the real problem. He’s positive it’s from Mazikeen’s hell-forged karambit, and that poses a unique problem. How long ago had she stabbed him? The blackened blood that continues to leak from the wound had certainly been a concern to the medical team working on him, but he knows it’s not something they’re equipped to handle. Hell-forged steel is deadly to celestial beings… The forging process renders the metal toxic once it contacts celestial blood. He’s going to have to venture back to Hell for the antidote, but he certainly can’t do that in his current condition. He needs to speak with Amenadiel, see what information he can glean from the angelic oaf, possibly see if he can cut a deal for Amenadiel to gather the ingredients for him. Perhaps he can also convince him to stop time so he can get out of here and heal up properly at home. Though Detective Decker knows she can find him there, and she seems the type to try to drag him right back here… one of his other properties then. He mentally runs through a list of possibilities, deciding that the mansion in the hills might do… the one with the spectacular sunset view.

He’s just considering praying for his brother when the angel himself enters the room, glancing furtively at the sleeping detective.

“Luci, I’m glad you’re awake,” his deep voice rumbles, seeming loud in the silence of the room despite his low volume. “I know she wants to stay with you, but if you can convince her to leave, we can get you out of here so you can recover better. I’m concerned about that stab wound.”

“Ah, brother, I was just about to pray for you with that exact plan in mind,” Lucifer sighs, relieved that he doesn’t have to convince his normally reluctant brother to help him. “Detective Decker is apparently familiar with my Penthouse, so I was considering one of my other properties to heal up in, since this infernal wound is likely to take a _very long time_ to heal, even here on Earth.”

“I also need to talk with you about what Charlotte has pulled together on Cain so far…”

“Cain?” Lucifer blurts, too surprised to be cautious. “What about him?”

“Yes, about the Sinnerman investigation we’ve started?”

“Right. Yes, of course,” he covers quickly, but Amenadiel narrows his eyes at his bedridden brother.

“You’re hiding something.”

“I’m sure it’s temporary,” Lucifer scoffs, “a mere side effect of my skull currently being in more pieces than the original ten commandments.”

 _“What_ is temporary?” his brother presses doggedly, and Lucifer sighs, knowing from experience that he’ll refuse to help until he gets an answer. The woman sleeping on the couch stirs sleepily, interrupting her snoring.

“I seem to be having some… issues with memory loss,” he admits reluctantly, fighting with the impulse not to share information with the brother that had been his jailer for eons, “It seems to be mostly just over the past few years, and I’m sure it will return as I heal.”

“Luci! How extensive is the loss?”

“I… don’t quite know. I remember setting up my life here in Los Angeles, but I can’t quite tell where the memories cut off, there’s just… an expanse of fog until I was standing in a cavern in Hell with a broken head and a hole in my gut, staring at Mazikeen clutching a bloody blade.”

“We should tell Linda,” Amenadiel replies immediately. “She’s your therapist, this is right in her field of expertise!”

“I don’t need a bloody _human_ poking around inside my head, brother,” Lucifer snaps, the sling bringing his intended arm movement up short as he hisses in discomfort.

“You’ve been seeing Linda for years now, Luci, she might be able to help! And Chloe—” Amenadiel glances over his shoulder at Detective Decker.

“Chloe?”

Amenadiel stares at him, stunned. “You don’t remember Chloe. Of course, no wonder you haven’t asked her to leave.”

Lucifer shakes his aching head, _too much new information_. “I’m afraid my head is beginning to pound again, brother. That’s been a recent sign that I’m about to drop off to sleep again. Will you please use your bloody time talent so that I can get out of here without being seen and stopped?”

“I… I can’t.” His elder brother’s shoulders sag with the admission, but Lucifer’s vision is washed with red.

“You won’t, you mean,” Lucifer snarls, irritated that even to avoid humans obtaining proof of the divine, his brother won’t help him in this. “You realize how simple it would be for them to determine there’s something inhuman about me? I’m going to be healing up rather quickly, you know.”

“Not as long as Chloe’s here, you won’t.” His brother replies bluntly, “And I meant exactly what I said, I _can’t._ I’ve fallen, brother, I no longer have my wings, _or_ my talent for slowing time.”

“You fell,” Lucifer’s jaw drops and he feels quite literally stunned. An incredulous smile blooms on his face, despite the direness this lends to his circumstance. _“You_ fell, God’s Fist has fallen. How, pray tell, did _that_ bit of serendipity occur? Please don’t leave out any of the juicy details.” Then, as an afterthought, “And who exactly is Chloe? And why would she affect my healing?”

“Detective _Chloe_ Decker, Luci.” Amenadiel gestures to Detective Decker, sleeping peacefully again, thankfully this time without the snoring. “Your partner. The miracle.”

“Miracle?” The smile slips from his face, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “Brother, I’m the one with the head injuries, but _you’re_ talking nonsense.”

“Yes, Luci, she’s a miracle. Father had me bless her parents so they could have a child, and that child became this woman, your partner. You two are… very close.” Amenadiel’s word choice seems very careful, and Lucifer is immediately suspicious.

“Explain, brother.” Lucifer growls, the pain in his entire being wearing away at his patience even faster than normal “I find it very hard to believe that I would want anything to do with one of Father’s projects. What is she to me? A trap? A _gift_? Does she know that Father’s using her as a toy?”

“No, no, Luci it’s nothing like that, though you thought so in the beginning, when you first found out.” Amenadiel scrambles to explain in the wake of his brother’s growing agitation. “She’s immune to you. She’s completely unaffected by your charm and your power over desires, but she obviously cares deeply for you, and…”

“And _what_ , Amenadiel? _Do not lie to me.”_

“And you love her. Beyond reason or doubt. She also somehow affects your invulnerability, you become… mortal in her presence.”

Lucifer laughs bitterly. “I asked you not to lie, I should have added that I am also in no mood for jesting. If this detective is indeed immune to my charms, then it’s impossible that she could care for me in any capacity except for how I can help her with her duties in investigating murders. It makes no _sense._ Why would I choose to partner with a detective that renders me capable of being injured? If I die, I get sent on a permanent one-way trip to Hell, _again._ And besides that, we _both_ know that I am incapable of love.”

“Of course you’re capable of love, Luci,” Amenadiel says softly, his smile warm and sad. “You always have been. You loved Michael so deeply that you refused to injure him even at the height of the fury of your battle. You loved Father beyond all others. Azriel, Gabriel, even Uriel…” his breath catches, and he changes his direction quickly. “I grieve for you, that this knowledge is hidden from you for now, but I have faith that you will regain it soon. You _are_ capable, and you have done more in the name of your love for her than you would have ever thought possible.”

Lucifer stares in horror at the sleeping human across the room. “You _must_ be mistaken, brother.” He argues helplessly, heart sinking as he remembers that unfamiliar feeling in his chest as the woman had nearly sobbed his name on his balcony. “If she cares for me at all, it _must_ be a manipulation of Father’s. Tell me that I haven’t taken advantage of that. I can’t have fallen so far as to allow free will to be usurped merely because it benefits _me.”_

“You haven’t—not at all—”

“Well, and what’s going on in here?” A nurse strides into the room, scolding lightly. “Your heart rate has gone through the roof, Mr. Morningstar, if your visitors are going to be upsetting you, we’re going to have to limit their access.”

“Ah, Kristi, my brother was just leaving so I can rest,” Lucifer turns his attention to the nurse with a smooth smile, and she melts—as he knew she would. “He’ll likely return sooner rather than later, but he promises to behave. It may be wise to send Detective Decker home to get some rest, though, she appears to be knackered.”

****************

Chloe had been about to sit up and let the brothers know she was awake, really she had been. But then, Lucifer had admitted to the memory problems… and Amenadiel had realized that he didn’t even _know_ Chloe, and had revealed that she is apparently a literal, honest-to- _God_ miracle, and she hadn’t been able to move.

The nurse ushers a protesting Amenadiel from the room with the admonition that if he promises not to upset her patient he’ll be allowed back in later, once the doctor has been in to see him. Chloe curls on the couch, eyes closed, thinking _very_ hard about what she’d learned.

_“I didn’t react well to the reveal, Detective, and since we have no more real answers now than I had then… I have reason to believe you’ll… be quite upset. Probably with me.”_

If what she’d just heard was similar to the way Lucifer had reacted initially… The initial disbelief, followed immediately by suspicion and anger at his father’s apparent attempt at manipulation, then the abject horror at even the _thought_ that her free will had been compromised… she can certainly understand why he would have run. She replays the conversation in her head several times, filtering more deeply each time for more information. Her heart breaks at his utter certainty that he is incapable of love, and the nearly unspoken implication that no one would _ever_ be able to really love him.

_So I not only make him vulnerable, but I slow his healing as well. That makes sense—the mark on his wrist from the handcuffs only healed once he left my apartment. But if I leave him now… he was planning to run again, to hide until he’s healed—how long will that take? How am I going to protect him from Pierce? What if his memories don’t come back? What if he decides being around me isn’t worth the risk to his safety?_

She must make a noise, because Lucifer’s gentle voice calls out from across the room.

“Detective Decker?” Her heart clenches, because it’s so close to familiar, and yet so… _wrong_. She stirs, feeling the tension in her muscles as she tries to stretch them. “Detective Decker, perhaps it’s time you went home? You seem exhausted, and you’ve done quite enough by finding me and getting me into the hands of these competent professionals.”

An idea strikes her, and although it’s not…quite… aboveboard, it’s also not _really_ a lie. Lucifer probably won’t appreciate that she’s about to try it on him, but he likely wouldn’t hesitate to use it on someone. Now… if she can only play it right.

“I know, you’ll heal faster if I leave for a while,” she pours reluctance into her voice as she approaches his bedside. She studies him as he watches her warily, his face and neck are a mass of bruises, though at least the blood has been washed from his skin and hair. Dark circles rest under his bloodshot eyes. His right arm is strapped to his chest in a black sling, and his left is currently hosting a lax blood pressure cuff, a pulse oximeter, and an IV line. She settles on the edge of the bed, her hip pressed against his. “I’m just worried that Cain might try to take advantage of your current weakness to come after you. We still don’t know if Maze left any of her blades with him before you took her back to Hell.” She reaches her hand out and ghosts her palm gently over the blanket just above his stab wound and his eyes rest on it, unblinking. “I think we’re going to have to get you out of here somehow, maybe to one of your other properties? But that might be tricky, because he’s got a file of them now, from the Sinnerman case, so he might be able to find you no matter which one you go to… What do you think, Lucifer? Have we got a plan?”

 _Maybe, if I can convince him that I’m already in on everything, he’ll be less inclined to run and hide._ She’ll have to figure out a way to get Amenadiel on board as well. Surely she knows all the important things… certainly more than _he_ does about their current situation anyway. He doesn’t reply, and she decides to wait him out, her hand reaching out to trace her fingers over his left wrist and forearm, just about the only part of his arms available.

“Detective Decker,” he rasps finally, his gaze sliding slowly from the now-empty blanket covering his stomach to where her hand wraps gently around his wrist. _Something_ is prompting him, telling him that this woman is worthy of his trust. “I… find myself at a bit of a momentary disadvantage. It appears that my head injury may have… somewhat… affected my memory. I know that you and I work together to solve homicides, but… I was not aware that you knew… other things. Would… could you please bring me up to speed on what you know about me, and our current situation?”

"Well, first things first... usually you just call me 'Detective'—"


	9. Safe Keeping

They quickly realize that starting with the most recent issue isn’t going to work—there are too many missing points of reference in Lucifer’s memories.

“I feel like we should talk with Linda before I just go… telling you things,” Chloe suggests tentatively. “What if…” _What if I hurt you?_

Lucifer’s left hand lifts to the bridge of his nose as though he would like very much to pinch it to alleviate the pain, but he thinks better of it at the last moment and simply waves his hand in front of his face instead. “Perhaps just high level then? You seem to hold the opinion that we don’t have much time to deal with… whatever situation we’re in, so let’s get a wriggle on.”

“Okay,” she blows out a sigh, edging further up onto the mattress next to him—it’s far more comfortable than that pitiful excuse for a chair, anyway. “We met about three years ago, when your friend Delilah was murdered outside Lux.” A small sound of pain emerges from his throat, his eyebrows contracting as pain flickers in his eyes. She rests a reassuring hand on his knee and continues quickly, “You made it _very_ clear that you didn’t trust the LAPD to solve her murder, and insisted on tagging along on my investigation. That’s actually how you met Linda, too—she was Delilah’s therapist first. You even proved to be slightly helpful, and we caught the guy that did it. He shot me when we confronted him, but you put the fear of the Devil into him, and got me to the hospital in time to save my life.” Her right hand drifts to her left collarbone, unconsciously pressing against the scar there.

Lucifer’s dark eyes drift to the bullet around her neck. “Is that where your pendant comes from? A reminder of how fleeting life is, perhaps?”

“No,” Chloe wraps her fingers around the pendant and laughs. If it’s a little watery, Lucifer kindly doesn’t remark on it. “You actually gave it to me for my birthday this past year. You didn’t come to be my official partner right away, we worked a few unofficial cases before my Lieutenant brought you on as a consultant. One of them was a kidnapping, and that’s when you _almost_ convinced me you were the Devil. I saw something—a flicker or a reflection in some machinery as you were approaching a suspect, and it scared me. You… you were just exasperated at that point, I think… that I didn’t believe you, so you kept shouting at me to just shoot you and prove it… and I finally did.”

“Really!” Lucifer coos, delighted, “Good for you, Detective Decker! So that’s when you learned the truth, then.”

“Er, no, actually. That’s… that’s actually how you found out you’re able to be injured around me.” She admits, still embarrassed at having allowed him to goad her into shooting him. “I felt _horribly_ about it, but the bullet only grazed your thigh, and you bled. You kept the bullet, and had it made into this necklace for me, as a symbol of our partnership.”

His eyes widen, not only at the idea of her injuring him (he’s already experiencing the effect of that, and how much sharper her presence makes the pain), but at the… _sentimentality_ of such a gesture. He can’t fathom what would have inspired him to present her with something so… personal. He can see why Amenadiel would be of the opinion that he loved this human, at least, what with witnessing sappy gestures like this.

“All right, so then we became an elite murder-solving duo, obviously,” Lucifer prompts confidently, and Chloe chuckles.

“What makes you think that?”

“Well those two officers that were at the scene of my, er, vehicular incident… they knew of me, and my partnership with you. That speaks of notoriety. Obviously, _I_ am noteworthy and _you_ seem to have good instincts and high intelligence as well, why _wouldn’t_ we be elite?”

Her laughter makes him smile, despite his less-than-ideal situation, and he waits patiently for her confirmation of his deduction.

“Well, we _do_ have the highest close rate in the district, so I guess you’re right…”

“See? I _knew it.”_ He teases lightly, only slightly unsettled at the bloom of warmth in his aching chest as she squeezes his knee again. “So you shot me, and I bled, and you didn’t believe me still. How long did that go on?”

“Too long,” Chloe huffs, glaring at him lightly. “You didn’t bother to prove who you were to me until recently.”

“Why on Earth would you allow me to assist you if you thought I was a liar?” he wonders blankly.

“I didn’t really think you were _lying…_ I just thought you were… using metaphors. To cope with a rough childhood, a rough life,” she admits, embarrassed. “And then, well, once we got to know each other, we became friends, and we started to be… maybe more than friends.”

“Friends?” he asks, puzzled. “We were _friends?”_

“We started out that way, yeah,” Chloe replies honestly. “But… something more now.” Somehow it’s easier to admit, since this isn’t quite _her_ Lucifer, how much _more_ they are… were… recently.

“I’ve never had a friend before,” he muses quietly. “You seem to be rather unique in many ways, Detective Decker.”

“You have friends now,” she offers, trying to offset the tight feeling around her heart at his plaintive tone. “Me, Ella, Linda. Charlotte. Even Dan… sometimes.”

He shakes his head carefully. “Amenadiel spoke of a Charlotte, but none of those names mean anything to me.” Somehow, the loss of these unknown friends affects him, more than he thought possible. He swallows, his throat suddenly feeling dry. “They… do they all know?”

“Linda and Charlotte do,” Chloe supplies, pausing. “I’m sure Dan doesn’t, and I’m pretty sure Ella doesn’t—she thinks you’re a method actor. Dan’s my ex-husband and… I think Dan thinks you’re just a jerk most of the time.”

“Hm, interesting choice for a friend,” Lucifer smirks. “He sounds like a bit of a douche.” Chloe’s gaze snaps up, sharpening on him as he stills. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing… just... that’s kind of your nickname for him,” she mutters slowly, “You call him Detective Douche when you want to get under his skin.”

“Does it work?” his smile is mischievous, and Chloe rolls her eyes. _Some things never change._

“It does.”

“Excellent,” he chirps happily, sounding so much like his normal self that she can’t help but smile back, and the sight of it takes his breath away. He clears his throat, casting around to get them back on track. “All right, so I didn’t prove my identity to you, but we became friends despite you thinking I was delusional or a liar—which doesn’t speak well for your overall judgement, Detective Decker, and I had _such_ high expectations of you—which leads us to our current situation how?”

“One night months ago, you left me a message saying you were going to come over and tell me _everything_ … and then you disappeared for three days.” Chloe remembers the cold rage she’d felt, thinking he’d run again, how angry she’d been when he’d turned up again with this tale of kidnapping and wings… “When you came back, you said you’d been kidnapped and dumped in the desert. You said then that you were pretty sure your dad was involved, because your wings were back. But more recently, you told me that Pierce was behind your kidnapping. Pierce is Cain… and he’s also my Lieutenant.”

“Yes, I’d noticed my wings had returned… threw me for a bit of a loop, though I can’t deny they came in handy. But… Cain— _biblical_ Cain—devil-napped me, and currently is posing as a police lieutenant?” Lucifer questions, baffled. “Why? And how did he give me my wings back?”

“He, um, apparently came to L.A. because he got a report that something made the Devil bleed, and he hoped that it might also make him killable. But I have no idea about the wings. I don't think you did, either. You know, before.”

“Ah, so the immortal wants to die,” he muses quietly. “Poor fellow just doesn’t realize how much fun immortality can be. Has he found the secret yet, then?”

“Well, he thought it was me,” Chloe admits dryly, “but when he got shot right next to me, it didn’t kill him. Then he decided it wasn’t my presence, but my… um, affection… that caused your vulnerability.”

“He… he what, thinks that you _care for me?”_ Lucifer snorts, immediately regretting it as it sends sparks of agony through his head. “Has _he_ had a head injury? Or… or has my father really impeded your free will and forced you to have some type of feelings toward me?” This last is said as a growl, with a dark glare thrown at the ceiling.

“Your father has _nothing_ to do with my love for you, Lucifer,” Chloe blurts, and they both go still, staring at one another for a long moment. A flush crawls up her neck, flooding her cheeks, but she makes no effort to take back her words, or alter their meaning. His mind is whirling and suddenly he tastes ocean air, feels the press of soft lips, and hears a soft whisper, _“You’re probably right.”_

“Detective?” he breathes unsteadily. His eyes are unfocused, pupils dilated as his free hand lifts to hover at his temple.

“Lucifer?” she murmurs, heart racing as she tries to stifle the billowing flame of hope that something has been remembered, that _her Lucifer_ is coming back to her. Her heart climbs into her throat—it’s _exactly_ the way he’d said it on the beach after their kiss.

He visibly pulls himself back together, shutters closing over his expressive deep brown eyes. “So… if he thinks your regard is what causes the vulnerability, he’s out to win you for himself?”

“That’s what we were thinking! So the plan was to let him think I did love him, and we were hoping that when that didn’t break the curse, that he’d move on,” Chloe pushes forward, trying to stay on task despite her impromptu declaration of love to a man who currently barely even knows her. “But the weird thing is, it _kind of_ worked?” At Lucifer’s befuddled expression, she tries to explain. “When I tried to tell him I loved him, he stopped me, told me it was moving too fast, that it wasn’t worth the trouble, and he left… but right after that his curse mark went away, so he _is_ mortal now.”

“Then… problem solved?” he proposes hopefully.

“I wish,” she chuckles darkly. “As it happens, _now_ he’s decided that he really is in love with me, and he wants to win me back. And normally I’d have no problem shooting him down, or even letting him down gently… but in this case he’s _also_ a murderer, and big-time crime boss that goes by the name The Sinnerman… so we’ve been trying to figure out how to take him down. I think that’s what Amenadiel and Charlotte started working on yesterday—collecting evidence to see if we can get him put away for life.”

“Yes, Dad’s pesky ‘no killing humans’ rule,” he jokes awkwardly, “I’m a little concerned for you, Detective Decker… a douche for an ex, and now the devil _and_ the world’s first murderer at your beck-and-call… you’re quite the danger magnet, are you not?”

“It seems that way, sometimes,” she mutters. Her hopes that he’d recovered some memories had subsided with his return to addressing her as ‘Detective Decker’.

“You said you were concerned that Cain might target me—why would he?”

“When he told me that he wanted to win me back, I basically told him no,” Lucifer grins at her, somehow unsurprised at her fearlessness. “He noticed that I was wearing my necklace again… I had, um, taken it off when he objected to it… and he seemed suspicious that I was turning him down because of you. You told me before that he’d try to go after you if he felt you were standing in the way of his plans.”

“Well. This is a right lovely mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, isn’t it?” He hums in thought, eyes focused on her pendant. “It’s going to require some thought, and I suppose I’ll need to speak with my angelic oaf of a brother about what evidence they’ve been able to gather. I also truly _do_ need to get out of here before these humans get their hands on any real proof of divinity. And I need to make a trip to Hell, as well.”

“Um, Lucifer, you can’t even sit up without something propping you right now, and your head—”

“Yes, I’m aware,” he snaps peevishly, his hand hovering protectively over his stomach. “But this stab wound isn’t going to just _heal_ , it needs a very particular treatment or I’m afraid Cain won’t _need_ to come after me. And if my brother is truly fallen, without his wings, then _I_ am the only one able to collect it.”

“Because it’s in Hell.”

“Yes, Detective Decker, it is.”

“Okay,” she agrees reluctantly, “then we need to get you out of here, and… and I guess I need to keep away from you so you can heal up some?”

“If my brother’s theory holds true about your proximity slowing my healing then yes, that would be most efficient.” He finds himself strangely reluctant to part ways with her, and he pokes at that feeling warily with a mental finger, as though it may bite him. Fatigue suddenly rears its ugly head, and his eyes slide closed as he leans his head gingerly back against his pillow. “How does one go about breaking out of a hospital, exactly?”

“It’s strenuous—involving huge amounts of paperwork.” She smirks at his crestfallen expression. Apparently past Lucifer enjoyed paperwork just as much as present Lucifer does. “You’ll have to sign a slew of AMA waivers and who knows what else.”

“Fine, fine,” he waves his left hand wearily, wires and tubes flapping dramatically. “Perhaps after I’ve had a little nap, then. I’m… not certain my eyes can focus on anything just now.”

“Oh,” she examines his face closely, noting the stress and exhaustion lines around his eyes and mouth. She starts to pull away from where her hip is resting against his thigh, “I… guess I should go, then. Give you a jumpstart on your healing.”

“You, er,” he clears his throat awkwardly, looking up at her from under his thick eyelashes “if you have the time, you could wait and speak with Amenadiel? He should be arriving again soon…”

“Oh!” Chloe’s more relieved than she probably should be that Lucifer seems nearly as reluctant for her to leave as she is. “Yes, that’s a good idea, that way you’ll be able to rest and he’ll be up to speed when you wake.”

“Yes, yes exactly,” a small smile flickers across his face, even as he loses his battle to keep his eyes open. “Thank you, Detective Decker.”

She reaches out for his hand, wrapping her fingers gingerly around his, to avoid disturbing any of his monitors. It’s warm in hers, and he manages a tiny, tentative squeeze before sleep claims him. She waits for Amenadiel, guarding her partner as he sleeps.

*********************

Amenadiel sighs in frustration when he enters the room and finds Chloe sitting on the bed, watching his brother sleep.

“Chloe?” he murmurs, his deep voice thrumming through the peace of the room. Her head snaps up, relaxing when she realizes who it is. 

“Amenadiel, hey,” she whispers, turning back to Lucifer and reluctantly sliding her hand out of his. “He asked me to hang around until you arrived so we could catch each other up.”

“Chloe, you really need to leave so he can start healing—”

“I know—” she interrupts him quietly, shooting a furtive glance at her sleeping partner. “Let’s… go down to the cafeteria so we can talk without disturbing him?”

Amenadiel nods, stepping back to let Chloe lead the way. As they travel the halls, Chloe lets him know that Lucifer is mostly aware of the situation now—at least the parts that Chloe had been aware of. Once they settle at a table—Chloe with a slightly wilted salad and an honorary pudding cup, Amenadiel with a cup of strong coffee—she asks for an update on the Cain research situation.

“He’s crafty, Chloe, and we’ve been at it less than a day. So far, we have photos of him meeting with a known fence. He got a small envelope, but we have no idea what was in it.”

“Hey, that’s pretty impressive for less than a day on the case,” Chloe encourages, knowing that it’s going to be beyond difficult to nail Pierce down.

“Charlotte is very…. motivated.” Amenadiel smiles fondly, and Chloe suddenly finds herself wondering how painful it would be, seeing someone that had been a loved one walking around every day, but knowing that it’s actually an entirely different person. A chill slips down her spine as she realizes that, if Lucifer’s memories don’t return… she may be on the path to find out. Her breath catches in her throat, a forkful of her sad salad trembling halfway to her mouth as she tries to deny even the possibility of that situation. Though now that the thought has arrived, it refuses to be evicted.

“Amenadiel…” her voice trembles as she reluctantly asks the question, “What if Lucifer’s memories don’t return from the past few years? What if… what he never remembers, um, his life here?”

“His memories are still in there,” Amenadiel assures her calmly. “Angelic memory is pretty much permanent. I have faith that he’ll recover them as he heals. Part of him still knows you, or he would have already asked you to leave so he could be healing. He doesn’t trust easily, Chloe, but he’s already shown you trust by discussing this situation with you. _He’s_ still inside, and he’s the most stubborn of the Host. He’ll be fighting his way back.”

“I hope so.” A tear skips down her cheek, landing on the red plastic tray in front of her. She sniffs, then distracts herself by pulling out her phone. “Okay, so… it’s 3 AM, and I need to be at work tomorrow if I want to try to keep Pierce out of the loop on Lucifer’s injuries. I know I need to keep my distance for a little while—do you have any idea how long before his non-Hellish injuries heal?”

“I’m not sure—celestial injuries are really quite rare in the Silver City, except during training exercises. It could be a day, or a week,” Amenadiel sips his coffee carefully, making a face at the bitterness of the beverage. “That stab wound, though…”

“Lucifer said he needs to go Hell in order to heal it?”

“He… what?” Amenadiel looks surprised. “No, that can’t be right. When I got stabbed with one Maze’s blades, she used one of Lucifer’s feathers to heal me—it needed divinity, not anything from the infernal plane.”

“Okay, then where do we get some divinity?”

“Well, Luci’s—Oh.” He stops short, realization written on his face. “We can’t use one of Lucifer’s feathers on his own injury… that divinity is already a part of him, it won’t heal him. And my wings are… gone.”

“Would any of your other siblings be willing to donate a feather?” Chloe asks tentatively, “If we can keep Lucifer from going back to Hell, I’m all for it.”

“None of them would,” Amenadiel states with utter certainty. “When Lucifer was cast out, the entire Host severed all connection with him. I was the only one to interact with him at all, and that was only because it was my duty to ensure he was always sent back to Hell when he escaped.”

“So you’re telling me literally the only interaction he’s had with his entire family since the dawn of human history is you coming down and truant officer-ing him back down to Hell?” Chloe asks indignantly. “For _thousands of years?”_

“More like billions, by the time you factor in the way time in Hell moves compared to the mortal plane,” Amenadiel confesses, and Chloe thinks he _might_ sound a little contrite, but she can’t bring herself to care how _Amenadiel_ feels.

“What did he _do_ that was so terrible that none of you would even consider saving his life?”

“He defied our Father,” Amenadiel intones solemnly.

“And?” Chloe looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Did he start a war? Did a bunch of you die? Did he… I dunno, lead an army of demons against Heaven? What?”

“No, of course not,” Amenadiel seems scandalized. “He demanded what Father was unwilling to give, and refused to take no for an answer. He was stirring resentment among some of the host with his persuasion. Father gave his judgement, and Michael carried it out. He was Outcast, Fallen, Anathema.”

“So he got excommunicated from Heaven and his entire family… because he tried to fight for something he wanted? Something he _desired?_ You… you realize that’s really hypocritical, right?” Chloe prods, watching Amenadiel’s confused expression. “Lucifer basically _is_ desire, am I understanding that correctly? Punishing him _for desiring something_ is literally punishing him for doing what he was created to do.”

“Father gave him a kingdom. That is hardly an onerous punishment.” His tone is condescending, and it only makes Chloe angrier. She fights it down as well as she can—they need his cooperation and she already knows how touchy the relationship between the brothers is.

“Have you _met_ Lucifer? The man runs from the _mention_ of responsibility. Forcing him to rule a kingdom, especially one like Hell? It would be like forcing me to run a human trafficking ring. It goes against _everything he is._ ”

Amenadiel opens his mouth to reply, then appears to actually _think_ about what she said. He doesn’t respond, and Chloe’s willing to take the win at this point.

“Okay, look, I’ve got to get some sleep if I’m going to be able function at work later. What’s your phone number? I’ll text you so you have mine, and you can let me know how he’s doing. I’ll grab his phone from Lux and drop it by after work, wherever you guys are. Just remember—Pierce has a list of nearly all Lucifer’s properties, thanks to Dan’s research on him, so be careful where you take him.” She sends him a text, then stops, staring at her red-eyed reflection in her black phone screen. “Oh… I’ve just had an idea.”

“What idea?” Amenadiel asks suspiciously.

“Maybe I can keep Pierce off Lucifer’s trail,” Chloe looks up at the dark-skinned angel, and grins. It’s exhausted, but genuine. “I’ve clearly not slept well, my eyes are red, I’m a bit of a wreck. What if I tell Pierce that I’ve had a fight with Lucifer and he’s run off to Vegas again?”

“Chloe, that’s a _big_ ruse to run,” he cautions, but she can see he’s considering it. “You’ll need to keep it up to your friends as well, everyone besides Linda and Charlotte. There could be repercussions that we haven’t thought of.”

“But it will buy Lucifer time to heal, and keep Pierce from coming after him! If he looks for him at all it’ll be in Vegas! He’ll be safe!” Chloe straightens her shoulders, manic, already making up her mind. “You’ll need to sign him out as soon as the office opens in the morning. In fact, I can probably stop by before work and help you with that—then—”

“Chloe,” Amenadiel gently interrupts. “You need to go home and get some _sleep_. If you’re going to play this game, you’ll need to have your wits about you. Come, I’ll drive you.”

“But shouldn't we tell Lucifer the plan?”

“He needs rest as well, healing is strenuous work. I’ll tell him when he wakes. Let me take you home.” He stands and gently guides her to her unsteady feet, ushering her into the passenger seat of his—very nice—Dodge Charger.

“Did Lucifer give you this car?” she wonders distractedly.

“No,” Amenadiel chuckles, “but he lets me use it, since Maze blew mine up.”

They don’t speak any further until Chloe guides him to a parking space in front of her apartment. She looks over at him, and reaches up to unfasten her necklace.

“I can’t sell the story if I’m wearing this,” she reluctantly places it in his palm, curling his fingers around it. “Will you give it to Lucifer when you tell him about the plan? Tell him it’s for safe keeping? He’ll know what it means.”

“I will, Chloe,” Amenadiel agrees, intrigued at the gesture. “And I’ll contact you tomorrow with our location.”

“Thanks, Amenadiel.”

When Chloe falls into bed a few minutes later without even bothering to undress, she tries not to think about how naked she feels without her pendant as she falls into an exhausted sleep.

********************

Amenadiel spends the wee hours of the morning perched precariously on the low couch in his brother’s private hospital room, pondering his conversation with his father’s Miracle. Her words are proving difficult to remove from his thoughts.

_“Punishing him for_ desiring something _is literally punishing him for doing what he was created to do.”_

He’d never really seen it that way, of course. Lucifer had defied Father, and had paid the price. In paying that price he’d been gifted a kingdom… a kingdom that _no one wanted_ , but had been designed to only be ruled by a Celestial. Every time Amenadiel had chased, harried, thrown or dragged his bloodied erstwhile brother back to that plane, he had only been glad that it wasn’t _his_ lot to be trapped here for eternity. He hadn’t spared a thought for how it must have been for a being like Lucifer—he who had been light and laughter in the Silver City—to be surrounded by nothing but darkness and echoing silence. For billions of years.

_“Brother!”_ Lucifer had greeted him gleefully each and every time he saw him, before Amenadiel would announce his intentions to return him to Hell, _again_. He’d always thought he was being glib… but what if he had been actually, genuinely pleased to see any reminder of his former life? _One_ person who had cared something for the angel he had been, before being cast down to burn in the lake of fire for millennia. Before he had been forged into the Devil in the fires of Hell.

He watches his broken and battered brother in the bed across the room, his sleep intermittently interrupted by twitches and low groans. The paleness of Lucifer’s face is accentuated by the darkness of the bruising around his eyes and face that has only deepened since he’s been watching. The nurses come in around 7 to perform their rounds, and Amenadiel is able to see the gut wound for the first time. He pulls in a silent breath and his abdominal muscles tighten in sympathy as he observes the damage. The wound is small… or, it had started out that way. The skin around the puncture is already beginning to necrotize from the toxicity of the metal reacting with Celestial blood, causing it to open up further, like a sinkhole. He looks on in morbid fascination, feeling the odd contradiction that the same demon that had performed the selfless act that had _healed_ his own wound, had _caused_ this one. Try as he might, he can’t make sense of it. Lucifer sleeps on as the bandage is removed, but the nurses wake him with their prodding.

“Mr. Morningstar, we need to remove the wound packing. If it gets too uncomfortable, let me know, okay?”

He nods silently, eyeing his brother sardonically as they work, using forceps to pull the black blood-stained packing material from the deep puncture. He doesn’t flinch, even as the forceps are nearly up to the grips in his abdomen. Once all the packing is removed they carefully clean around the wound itself, and re-pack it with clean material before adding a clean dressing back over the top. A few more questions and they’re ready to leave, but Amenadiel stops them with a question about discharging. The nurses glance at each other incredulously.

“Sir, your brother needs professional medical care. You saw the severity of his wound just now, not to mention the broken ribs, internal injuries, and his head injury. He’s going to need to be here for quite a while.”

“My apologies, I should have been more clear. I need to arrange transport for him so he can be cared for at home.”

The covey of nurses share another suspicious look amongst themselves before deferring to the doctor, who would be by on her own rounds shortly.

“Well, brother,” Lucifer sighs once the room has emptied of medical staff. “How did your discussion with Detective Decker go? And have you found anything on Cain yet?”

“She let me know that you’re mostly up to date on recent events with Cain, and… unfortunately we don’t have much yet, but Charlotte is highly motivated to help us with this.”

“Yes, and who is this Charlotte? Detective Decker indicated she’s a friend, but how did she come about knowing the truth of us?”

“Charlotte is… unique.”

“Mmhm,” Lucifer hums, “as is Detective Decker.”

“Um, no, Charlotte’s situation is even more rare,” Amenadiel clarifies Charlotte’s story as shortly as he can, watching worriedly as Lucifer grows even paler as he finishes the tale. “Luci? Are you all right?”

“So… so Mum was here on Earth, in Charlotte’s body while Charlotte was in Hell. I… sent Mum away, and Charlotte was revived?” Lucifer sums up, looking as though he badly wants a drink. “Brother, I think I’m beginning to understand why these memories have hidden from me, what a bloody clusterduck!”

“What a… what?”

“Hmm?” Lucifer raises his eyebrows, confused at his brother’s incredulous expression.

“Nothing,” Amenadiel lets the odd word choice go. _Probably a result of the head injury._ “Yes, you’ve got it. And Charlotte was beginning to think she was crazy because she _remembered_ Hell, so… I convinced you to show her your wings.”

“Since yours are MIA, I presume,” Lucifer sniffs, and Amenadiel nods.

“You told me yesterday that’s also when Chloe saw your wings—”

“Aha!” Lucifer cries, before flinching back from pain reverberating in his head. He takes a moment to recover, before continuing more quietly, “That little minx, I _knew_ she was hiding something. She saw my _wings_ , no wonder she thinks…”

“She thinks what, Luci?” Amenadiel tilts his head in query, but Lucifer remains silent, eyes unfocused as though his thoughts as elsewhere. The elder brother shakes his head and clears his throat, catching the attention of the younger once more. “Anyway, she has a plan that she wants to put in motion today, to help keep Cain off your tail while you’re recovering.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Mr. Morningstar!” Dr. Shivarrah enters the room with a cheerful greeting. “What’s this I hear about you wanting to leave us so soon? You’re really in no condition for home care yet.”

The two brothers glance at one another and with a sigh, the Devil turns up the charm.


	10. Hardly a Sweet Peach

Chloe oversleeps, of course. She’s finally pulled unwillingly from the warm embrace of her blankets by the incessant buzzing of her phone, which she had somehow remembered to place on the charger before collapsing. She sits up, grimacing at the grittiness in her eyes and the aching creases on her skin from sleeping in her work clothing. Her hair is hopelessly tangled, and she feels like she could sleep for another week and still be tired. She looks around dazedly for the source of the noise that had roused her. _Right. Phone._

“Decker” Her voice is hoarse, raspy.

“Oh wow, hey Chlo’, you okay?” Dan’s concerned voice is too loud, and she holds the phone gingerly away from her ear.

“Yeah, no, I…” she gives it up, realizing she’s going to be utterly useless at any kind of subterfuge today until she gets some sleep. “I think I’m sick. I just woke up, I must’ve slept through my alarm.”

“You sound… really bad.”

“Gee, thanks.” She says dryly, trying to clear the roughness from her voice. “What did you need, Dan?”

“Well, you weren’t here, and Pierce wanted me to check on you. Said something about a couple of unis thinking they’d had Lucifer as a victim of a hit-and-run with a truck last night? Also, we might have a lead on the LA West Ballet case, but sounds like you’re down for the day.”

“Uh, yeah. I talked to Officer Russ last night, but Lucifer’s fine. I’ll text Pierce and let him know I’m sick. I might try to get an appointment somewhere later today.” _Hopefully that will keep him from coming around to check up on me._ “First I’m gonna try to sleep whatever this is off.”

“Okay, yeah, good plan,” She can practically hear Dan nodding in agreement, probably eager to take the lead on a case for once. With Palmetto and Pierce’s low opinion of him, he doesn’t get the chance to do that much anymore. “If you need me to keep Trix longer, just say the word, yeah?”

“I’ll let you know,” Chloe disconnects the call, too tired to worry about courtesy right now. She fires off a quick text to her superior officer, then forces herself up to remove yesterday’s clothing before falling back into her nest of blankets.

When she wakes a few hours later she feels much more human and able to tackle the challenges the day is bound to bring. It’s past mid-morning and she’s had no communication from Amenadiel, so she sends a text fishing for information before moving on to her wake-up routine. First item on the agenda: _coffee_.

A shower and two mugs of coffee later she’s feeling nearly human, and she’s considering heading into the office to start the new plan. She requests an Uber to Lux to pick up her cruiser since she’d ridden in the ambulance with Lucifer last night, and makes a mental note to pick up his phone from the penthouse while she’s there.

****************

Lucifer’s dreams are haunted by fragments of images. A glowing rift in mid-air on the beach, and a pervading sense of grief as a strangely familiar brilliant light flows through it. 

His bloody hand gripping a short sword as anguished sobs catch on the echoing emptiness in his chest, _“He was my brother!”_

Dancing in Lux with Detective Decker—first happily in a crowd, then slowly, the dance floor empty of all but their bodies pressed closely together, as cheesy gold confetti falls from the ceiling.

Standing cheerfully on a rooftop with a suicidal man, a different rooftop with an unfamiliar woman looking down into a pool, then yet another rooftop with Amenadiel. _“I've had my fun on Earth, and... there's no reason for me to stay anymore. You win. I'll go willingly. Please, just... take me back to Hell.”_

A small room full of scientific equipment and a small dark-haired woman in front of a microscope, talking passionately about her specimen as he smiles indulgently, thinking wistfully of his younger sister.

In a quaint kitchen with Detective Decker looking furious in a towel, a moderately handsome man glaring daggers at him, and a small child wrapped around his waist as he freezes and waits for it to release him.

A tall, blonde woman kissing him in his penthouse and the memory of nearly climbing over the piano in a frantic attempt to escape her.

On a beach with Detective Decker, _“More importantly, Detective, you deserve someone as good as you... because... well, you're special and I'm... I'm not worth it.”_

That last scene had chased him into wakefulness with its familiarity, he’s certain it’s the same scene as the flash he’d gotten earlier, where she’d kissed him. He shakes his head, relieved that it doesn’t inspire a fresh tsunami of pain. _What a load of old tosh! A child embracing him? And when had he_ ever _run from a kiss?_ Clearly this head injury must be more extensive than he’d thought. He must have dropped off again while waiting for Dr. Shivarrah to return with his discharge papers.

“So what do you think, Luci?” Amenadiel asks when he notices his brother is awake again, and Lucifer’s scattered attention is pulled again to the conversation they’d been having when he’d apparently fallen asleep.

The Devil looks at the tiny, misshapen blob of metal clutched loosely in his hand and closes his fingers gently around it.

“Brother, this is a _terrible_ idea,” Lucifer offers honestly. “Where on Earth did she get the idea that _I_ need to be protected from Cain? How many times did _you_ manage to kill him when you fought?”

“Luci… I didn’t tell you that Cain and I fought,” Amenadiel’s eyes light up, and a grin spreads across Lucifer’s face a moment later. “You _remembered_!”

“Well, good to know that not _everything_ got wiped away,” the devil sighs in relief. “Even if I don’t know what I know and what I don’t… But anyway, how many times?”

“Nine,” Amenadiel smiles grimly, “before he got impaled on the railing and couldn’t get off by himself. I made him swear to a truce before I would help him free.”

“There, see?” Lucifer rolls his eyes, “I should be in no danger at all from him. Can you contact her on your phone and call off this ridiculous plan?”

Amenadiel takes the phone from his pocket and Lucifer watches in fascination as his Luddite brother easily navigates the device. He fidgets impatiently in his bed, he’d wanted to be gone _hours_ ago, but it’s nearly midday and the paperwork for his discharge has yet to arrive.

“Oops,” Amenadiel murmurs, and Lucifer’s attention rivets back to his brother. “Chloe had texted me and I didn’t see the notification. Looks like she’s on her way to Lux to pick up her cruiser and your phone.”

“Oh, do I have one of those now, too?” Lucifer’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “Ugh, such annoying little buggers, why would I do that?”

“Probably because Chloe needed a way to get in touch with you,” Amenadiel suggests, tapping out a reply as he speaks, “and also because now that I’m fallen, I can’t hear your prayers. And so you can annoy me with messages entirely in emojis.” This last is muttered, but Lucifer’s ears are sharp, and his answering grin is wicked.

“Yes, since when do you actually _prefer_ to stay in touch with me, brother?” Lucifer asks wryly. “Last I can really recall, the only times you popped in were to _request_ my return to my bloody throne.”

“Things have changed in the last few years, Luci,” the former angel admits. “I realized some things about you, and about myself, and… I’m trying to do better. And you have been, too.”

“You never did tell me how you managed to fall.”

“I… did some fairly underhanded things, to try to get you back to Hell,” he hangs his head, the smooth deep brown skin of his scalp shining in the harsh light of the room. “I manipulated Linda to try to get inside your head, I… had your wings stolen from where you’d hidden them and nearly unleashed them on humanity at large, and… I resurrected a Hellbound soul to kill you, once I realized you were vulnerable.”

“Well,” he draws out the word on a long exhale, “branching out a bit from your usual repertoire, I see. Still doesn’t tell me _why_ you and I would be in communication.”

“We worked together to make sure the soul I resurrected got sent back to Hell. He killed several people after I brought him back, and he actually stabbed me with one of Maze’s blades—I would have died if she hadn’t healed me with a feather she’d kept tucked away from one of your wings.”

_A large building—a hangar?—he’s on the cold concrete floor, a puddle of his blood rapidly spreading around him as he gasps out his final, choked words, “I don't know if this is all part of the plan. Or if You can even hear me. But if You're up there... Daaaaad... I need a favor. I'll be the son... You always wanted me to be. I'll do as You ask. Go where You want me to. In exchange, all I ask is... is that You protect Chloe.”_

“One of _my_ feathers healed you?” Lucifer perks up at that bit of information, after he’s shaken off the lingering memory of his own death.

“Yes, I needed a divine supplement to heal it.” His phone chimes again, and he taps out another reply.

“Ah,” he nods, disappointed. “Yes, I suppose that would have worked then. Pity it won’t work for me. I don’t suppose you held on to any of _your_ old feathers?”

Amenadiel shakes his head regretfully. “I burned them, to avoid any issues like what we ran into with your wings.”

“Damn,” Lucifer breathes, though he’s not surprised. “The Hell remedy it is, then. Fitting.”

“I didn’t know there _was_ another remedy, Luci, are you sure it works?”

“I’m still alive, of course it works,” Lucifer snorts, again feeling a surge of relief at the lack of spiking pain in his head, a good sign his healing is working. “What, you think I spent billions of years in Hell, fighting my way to the throne without ever tasting Hell-forged steel? I’m an excellent warrior, but _no one_ is that good. Here’s a tip, brother: In Hell, _everyone has Hell-forged steel._ If the remedy didn’t work, I wouldn’t have lasted a century.”

“What do you need to make it?”

“Nothing rare, thankfully,” he considers a moment. “Ash, which is everywhere of course. Demon blood, which is easy enough to obtain. And this lichen-moss thing that… now that I think about it… is the only thing that I’ve ever noticed growing down there. Aside from the briars along the river… and you _don’t_ want to go near those.”

“Once your other injuries are healed, do you think you’ll be able to make it in and out without getting into trouble?”

“That’s certainly the goal, brother,” he replies airily. “Though I know you’d just be pleased as punch if I wound up getting trapped down there again.”

“Luci,” Amenadiel sighs heavily. “I gave up trying to force you back to Hell after we worked together to stop Malcolm. I… I don’t think you belong there anymore.”

Lucifer narrows his eyes suspiciously at his brother before forcing a laugh. “You’ll forgive my lack of trust, I’m sure, given my current circumstances.”

 _“You are my brother and my test. Whatever needs to be done.”_ No images this time, only the words wander through his mind.

“Oho, that’s it, is it?” He crows triumphantly. _“You_ think that by what… helping me limp along dear old Dad will give you your wings back? I suppose it’s worth a try, hm?”

Amenadiel sits back on the couch, struck at the enormity of the bitterness there. He thinks back to Chloe’s accusation and it slowly dawns on him truly how badly he’d misjudged his brother. He recalls Lucifer’s reaction back when Amenadiel had casually referred to him as _evil,_ when he’d first come to Earth to stay… Only now does he know his brother well enough to realize the amount of pain that offhanded remark had caused. And lately… he rocks back further into the seat as realizes that he’s been nearly as casually cruel. Constantly referring to Lucifer as his ‘test’, agreeing to help him… exactly as his brother accused, all in hopes of Father giving his wings back.

“You… you’re right, Luci,” he declares quietly, and Lucifer’s brow furrows in confusion. “I have… been trying to be a better brother to you, but—maybe for the wrong reasons. I think I _am_ hoping that if I prove myself worthy that Father will restore my wings, but… if I’m going to do this, I need to do it because it’s the _right_ thing to do, not because I may be rewarded.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound like the Amenadiel I know at all,” Lucifer murmurs in disbelief. “How many years of memories did you say I’m missing?”

“Mr. Morningstar, I’m so sorry for the delay!” A tiny, owlish woman breezes into the room with a truly daunting stack of paperwork, and the devil sighs in resignation. _There goes the rest of my day._

****************

She’s nearly to Lux by the time she gets a response from Amenadiel.

**_Still at hospital, waiting for discharge paperwork. Lucifer says plan is bad idea._ **

**_Does he have a better idea to keep Cain off him while he’s healing?_**

 ** _Healing is already progressing. Says he can handle it._** She rolls her eyes, only just managing to contain her huff of annoyance.

  1. **_I called out sick today, too tired to be convincing. Tell me where you are when you decide, and I’ll bring his phone by this evening. If I’m not convinced, I’m starting the plan tomorrow._**



Her ride drops her off at Lux’s front door and the bouncer nods her through. She looks around for Lucifer’s phone, trying to figure out where he would leave it while taking a ‘quick trip’ down to Hell. She pauses when she steps out onto the balcony, the place he had lain still marred by a dark patch of smeared blood. Stuck within it is a single, enormous, smoke-colored feather. She stares at it, wondering what kind of bird it came from. She retreats inside, spies the phone on the bar, and notices the charge is nearly gone—no surprise with the number of notifications he gets—so she tracks down his charger and plugs it in. While it charges, she grabs some towels and water and goes to mop up the grisly remnants of his injuries. She pulls the feather from the floor and is about to release it to the wind when it catches the light and something makes her pause. It really _is_ enormous, nearly as long as the ones she’d seen on Lucifer’s wings—but his had been shining white. The color is unusual too, there’s an iridescence there, but not like you’d spy on, say, a pigeon or blackbird’s wing. It’s more the illusion of smoke—the way it coils and wends in an eddying breeze. Intrigued, she tucks it into her jacket pocket and continues her cleaning until no traces remain.

She goes out briefly to pick up lunch, but winds up back at Lux rather than crossing town back to her apartment. She doesn’t know where Lucifer and Amenadiel will wind up, but… she feels _closer_ to Lucifer here than she would at home. She sends Amenadiel another text offering to bring Lucifer anything he needs from his apartment when she sees him this evening. 

She spends some time getting to know the controls on the apparently brand-new television that now resides in his sitting room. She smiles faintly that Netflix’s only suggestion for “Watch It Again?” is Bones, and she starts in from the Pilot, just to pass some time, but the first time Brennan mentions the coccyx, she has to turn it off. She checks Lucifer’s phone, but it’s not fully charged yet. Eventually, she finds herself in his bedroom, curled up on his bed. _This mattress is probably illegal. I didn’t even know mattresses could BE this perfect until that first night…_ _well, morning._ She still barely remembers anything from that very first night, having gotten _very_ drunk after receiving Dan’s breakup text. She remembers how gentle he was with his rejection of her advances, though, and how very kind he had been afterward. It’s only been a day, but she _misses_ him, _her_ Lucifer. He’s not gone, obviously, but who he is right now isn’t who he _was_ , and it only highlights to her how much he _has_ changed during their friendship. How hard he’s worked to be the better version of himself that he’d been working so diligently to hide before. These thoughts run idly through her mind as she slips unwittingly into sleep.

“Well, Detective Decker!” The familiar lilting accent paired with the unfamiliar title jars her into wakefulness and she gazes up to find her partner standing over her, grinning delightedly. He’s looking disheveled, wearing a loose t-shirt and a pair of jeans that are a little too short, and very obviously _only_ held up by his belt. His right arm is no longer in the sling, but he’s still holding it a little awkwardly against him, and all of his visible bruising is clearly resolving. His posture is a little slouched, indicating his ribs still pain him, and she fights the urge to pull up his shirt to check on the stab wound. “Amenadiel assures me that you do indeed have your own residence, and yet I seem to find you here quite often, and now even warming my bed! Is there something else about our relationship that I should know?”

It’s all said in that over-the-top seductive purr that used to get a flustered reaction out of her every time back in the early days of their partnership, but she’s been his partner for too long for it to truly affect her now… at least not in _this_ instance, where he’s clearly teasing her. So rather than scramble up and stammer an explanation, she goes with her second inclination: _tease him back._ She blinks sleepily up at him and slowly _stretches_ , feeling a smug thrill of satisfaction as his eyes widen, his tongue flickering out to moisten his lips as his gaze catches on the bare skin of her midriff where her shirt has ridden up. She yawns exaggeratedly and sits up, running her fingers over her hair.

“Sorry, I was waiting for Amenadiel to text me back to let me know if you needed anything from here besides your phone. I got bored, and your mattress is crazy comfy.” He pulls back a half-step, and she notices he’s not quite as steady on his feet as he’d like her to believe. “You should probably sit down, before you fall down. Or better yet, _lay_ down. You look better, but you’re weaving.”

“I told Amenadiel I’d be fine,” he straightens his shoulders and looks offended at the implication that he’s incapable of taking care of himself.

“And I’m sure you meant it, but I’m your partner and I understand you better than he does,” Chloe presses, reaching forward and grabbing his elbow, tugging him down effortlessly to sit beside her. He grunts a little in discomfort as he bounces onto the mattress. “See? No way should that have been _that_ easy.”

“Who’s to say I wasn’t merely eager to join you in bed, Detective Decker?” he tries for a cocky leer, but it comes out as more of a pained grimace.

“Mmhm,” she hums skeptically, eyeing him. “How’s your head?”

“Better, in terms of pain,” he admits, “though the memories are still being a bit stubborn. They seem to arrive in bits and bobs, with no context or connection, for the most part.”

“But they’re returning? That’s good news,” hope flares in her chest and she reaches out to squeeze his arm in support. “If you have questions, I want you to ask them, okay? I’ll always give you honest answers.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his puzzles eyes on her hand. “I’ve at least found out why you seem so comfortable around me, despite knowing what I am. You haven’t seen my face.”

“I haven’t…” she stares at him blankly, “Lucifer, I see your face every day. I’m looking at it _right now._ What are you talking about?”

“Not this face, my _devil_ face,” he elaborates. “My brother explained that you witnessed me revealing my wings to Charlotte, that he had convinced me to show them to her to help prove to her that she _isn’t_ crazy, merely celestially inconvenienced. I never would have shown you my wings to prove my identity, I would have wanted to show you my _face_ , to make sure you understood properly who I truly am.”

“That’s what you told me before,” Chloe sighs, “but you said your father had taken it when you got your wings back.”

“So my brother informed me,” he reaches up and gingerly pinches the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, “and so we are stuck with you viewing me through a warped lens, and sadly deluding yourself into thinking I’m worthy of your regard.”

“Let’s not worry about me right now,” she suggests gently. “I’m more concerned about getting you back into one piece. Your head is better, but you’re still being careful with it, so you’re still having some pain. Your arm is better but still awkward, and your ribs still hurt. I’m afraid to ask about the stab wound, but I need you to give me a progress report.”

“Ah, right,” he glances down at his abdomen, his hand pressing lightly over the wound. “It’s not something that’s going to get better until I can get to Hell for the cure, Detective Decker. I’m actually supposed to change the packing soon, according to the nurse.”

“Is… is that something you should do yourself?” Chloe asks nervously.

“I’ve dressed my own wounds for eons,” he assures her, “nothing new for me, really—Oh, bollocks.”

Chloe follows his gaze and notices the spreading black stain on the t-shirt. “I think it’s time to change the packing now, Lucifer. Did they send you with supplies?”

He staggers to his feet and she hurriedly stands to support him, trying to get him to sit back down.

“I _like_ these sheets, Detective Decker, I’d just as soon not ruin them. I can do this in the sitting room, or the bath.” Chloe does a quick calculation and steers him toward the bathroom— there are no stairs to navigate in that direction. She seats him on the toilet lid, and finds the bag of medical supplies on the bar in the sitting room. When she returns, he’s got his shirt off and his belt undone, carefully undoing the button and zipper of the too-large jeans.

“It’s just the waistband of these trousers, Detective Decker,” he says around his hissed exhale, “just a bit too rough against the perforation, I’m afraid.”

She kneels in front of him and swats his trembling hands away, gently peeling away the top dressing.

“Lucifer,” she breathes, horrified. “I can’t believe they let you out of the hospital like this.” 

The flesh surrounding the wound is so friable that large pieces of it have peeled up with the dressing, leaving deep red, infected-looking tissue beneath. The wound appears to be sinking into itself, the hole appearing three times larger than when she had seen it just last night. She can see the packing inside, saturated in black fluid.

“Is this your blood? You’ve always bled red before…”

“It wasn’t quite so bad this morning,” he admits sheepishly, “Hell-forged blades have a toxic reaction when they contact celestial blood… it literally burns from the inside out. But again, it’s going to continue to worsen until I can get to Hell for the cure. So perhaps you should pop off so I can recover from these other injuries, and… what are you—?"

“Did they send any tools with you?” She’s digging through the bag of supplies, “We’re going to need some… tweezers… or something to pull this stuff out.”

“There were some sterile packets of things in there, yes,” he leans back against the wall, exhausted already, but holding out his hand for the instrument when she locates the packet. She swats his hand away again, and he doesn’t have the energy to argue, merely grunts in annoyance as she drags him down to lie flat on the floor and proceeds to use the forceps to carefully fish out the contaminated packing material. Once that’s done, she finds the sterile scrub and proceeds to thoroughly clean around the degrading wound. He feels an unfamiliar tugging sensation in his head, and pries his eyelids open as she leans over him.

“Detective Decker… either I’m becoming delirious, or… you’re glowing.” He murmurs weakly.

“I’m… what?” she glances down and finds a golden glow emanating warmth from the inside of her jacket. Startled, she reaches inside and pulls out the smoke-colored feather she’d found on the balcony that morning. Only it’s not smoky anymore, it’s glowing with a brilliant, fiery golden light. Lucifer’s eyes widen in shock, and his hand shoots out to carefully catch her wrist.

 _“Please, don’t”_ his own voice echoes in his mind, but it sounds small, nearly childlike in the face of the concern written on the face of the detective standing before him with her hand outstretched to touch his scars.

He blinks himself back to the present. “Where did you get this?”

“It was… stuck in the puddle of dried blood on your balcony from when you landed last night. I was going to get rid of it, but it seemed… different, so I put it in my pocket.”

“This… this came from my sister.”

“You have a sister?” Chloe parrots, dumbfounded. “How do you know?”

“I have thousands of siblings, Detective Decker, they aren’t _all_ brothers,” he huffs exasperatedly. “But this sibling I knew quite well before my fall. I’d recognize her feathers anywhere and if _she_ was nearby last night, I was in much worse shape than I’d thought.”

“She’s dangerous?”

“She’s the angel of death, Detective, she’s hardly a sweet peach.”

“But she’s an angel, like you and Amenadiel?”

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean—”

Chloe follows her instinct and places the feather over the gaping hole in her partner’s stomach, gasping a breath as the warm glow swiftly becomes an overpowering torrent of glorious light. Her eyes water, her ears ring, and she collapses on the floor next to her partner as blissful darkness overtakes her.


End file.
